


Trivial Things

by Shaytham



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ass-Kicking, Assassin's Creed: Rogue, Blow Jobs, But it's not all sad, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Fluff, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Gentle Sex, Getting Together, Haytham Being An Asshole, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Liam is done with everyone's shit, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Past Shay/Liam, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shay being an idiot, Shaytham, Slash, Slow Build, Spoilers, Templar Connor, Timeline What Timeline, Topping from the Bottom, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 83,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaytham/pseuds/Shaytham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was pathetic, and he'd admit it over his dead body, but Shay knew he would give anything not to have to sleep alone. The hardest thing after leaving the Assassins was waking up to an empty bed, without Liam beside him. The other Assassin had been a trusted confidant and so, so much more than that. That was what he needed now, more than anything, but he had no one like that. Haytham was dangerously close to it, and that unsettled Shay a bit. When had the Grandmaster, who had never been anything but cold and calculating, become the person Shay wanted to run to? Yet at the same time, the last thing he wanted Haytham to see was this consuming weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coping Mechanisms, or a Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> This takes place pretty much where the game leaves off, after Shay agrees to look for the precursor box. I might have trashed the timeline a bit, and I'm really sorry for that. I've used a bit of 18th century slang in this, and you'll find translations at the end of each chapter for things I thought might need explaining.
> 
> This primarily Shaytham, and doesn't have anything to do with Liam until much later on. 
> 
> I will probably update weekly. Please leave a comment! I really appreciate feedback. I'm always working to improve my writing.

The last two weeks were a blur, obscured in an alcohol induced haze of apathy and utter misery. It had been Charles who had finally dragged Shay out of the little hole in the wall tavern in Manhattan, and confined him to Fort Arsenal. Now, he stood hunched over the wrought iron railing of his bedroom's balcony, looking down at the flower garden in the courtyard below. Shay was a sight to behold, in desperate need of a shave, with his hair an unbound mess. He had a splitting headache, and was sure he would vomit if he dared open his mouth. He half hoped Charles would walk underneath the balcony so he could properly test that theory. Sadly, that was the most profound thought Shay was capable of at the moment.

He hadn't taken Liam's death well. He knew that coming to terms with it would be difficult, but he just wasn't coping. Not at all. In his own mind he had been; he just needed to be drunker. A _lot_ drunker. But Charles had come along and ruined that plan, and now he and Gist wouldn't let him leave until he was stone cold sober. He didn't know who Charles thought he was, really. If nothing else, Shay had more than a few plans to get the arrogant sod off that high horse of his. He'd been insufferable from the beginning, and his behavior when around Haytham often reminded Shay of an insecure husband who was terrified that someone would steal his trophy wife's affections. ...Not that it bore thinking about. Haytham would probably murder the both of them if he knew that such an image had so much as crossed Shay's mind.

Speaking of Haytham...

"I'm a dead man." Shay groaned, resting his head on the cool metal railing. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. No, Haytham wouldn't kill him, but there was sure to be one hell of a lecture. Haytham hadn't been lying when he'd made that comment to Achilles about how he'd been working on trying to remedy Shay's occasional total lack of etiquette. He'd have a canary when he found out Shay had spent an entire two weeks three sheets to the wind. ...And then Charles would preen like some kind of overzealous pea-hen while fishing for praise from the Grandmaster for dragging Shay out of his favored den of iniquity. Shay wasn't sure he'd survive the shame, or Haytham's disappointment. He cringed at the thought. There were few things he feared more than the man's disapproval.

A loud rapping on his closed bedroom door tore Shay from his brooding, and seemed to echo through his skull like someone had driven a blade through it with each sharp knock. A sick little voice in the back of his head hoped it was Charles, because he'd feel terrible if any of the others wound up covered in vomit that reeked of stale whiskey. He grunted noncommittally, not really trusting himself to form actual words. Honestly, he couldn't ever remember being this ill after too much drink. Though, to be fair, he'd never been quite _that_ drunk before either.

"I hear you've made quite the tosspot of yourself in my absence." Shay wanted to just kick the railing in frustration. "I'm rather disappointed in you, Shay."

"Hardly, I was half seas over at the worst o' it." Shay replied in a valiant attempt of preserving his badly wounded dignity, amazed that he managed the words without slurring. He stumbled back into the room, holding his face in his hands and completely ignored Haytham as he flopped into the chair near his writing desk with all the grace of an intoxicated ape. Miserably, he leaned forward and rested his head on the oaken surface as he wasn't quite capable of sitting up without making the room spin. Haytham sat down on the edge of the bed near Shay with an irritated sigh.

"What brought this on, exactly?" Haytham asked, watching the pitiful wretch of a man like a hawk.

"You need a healthier way of coping with grief." He added pointedly when Shay didn't reply, and fixed him with a stern glare. "This is thoroughly unacceptable."

"What do you suggest then, Sir?" Shay grumbled, running his fingers through his hopelessly tangled hair as if the motion would lessen the tension in his skull.

"Believe me, I am not the one to ask. However, if you want to to make yourself useful you might as well clean yourself up and head to the waterfront. The local criminals have moved back into their old headquarters there. Deal with it and report back to me." Haytham told him sharply and swept from the room without waiting for a response. Shay swore under his breath. As far as lectures went, that was pretty tame for Haytham. Somehow, though, that just made it feel worse – like Shay wasn't worth wasting the effort of a proper rant on. If anything, it seemed like pity and that made him want to scream. He didn't want or need anyone's pity, least of all Haytham's.

Bathed, shaved and dressed in clean clothes, Shay stumbled out into the afternoon sunlight for the first time in two weeks. He still ached all over (and doubted himself capable of stringing together a proper sentence), but the fresh air was doing wonders for him. Slowly, he made his way to the waterfront. There wasn't any point in rushing to get there; running out of steam before the fighting started wouldn't do much good.

There was a chill in the air, a firm reminder that winter was near and it promised to be a harsh one. The streets were quiet, aside from the usual local louts and a few of the gang's members prowling the alleys. Shay made short work of them, a little disconcerted with how easily he did it. It was as if his body was simply designed to kill, and he didn't really need to actually _think_ about what he was doing anymore. A whore standing on the corner near a tavern winked at him, and Shay thought momentarily about Haytham telling him to find a better outlet for his emotional turmoil. He shook his head and kept walking. Shay learned early on that meaningless sex wasn't a cure for anything in the long run.

When he finally reached the gang's headquarters near nightfall, he hid behind a large brick chimney on the roof of a neighboring building and watched them carefully before striking. There were two snipers on the rooftops, armed with rifles fitted with long bayonets. From his vantage point, Shay could also see that they had rebuilt most of the poison making equipment he'd destroyed when he ran them out of the place the first time.

"...Pain in my arse." He muttered to himself and slunk along the rooftop, dispatching the closest sniper with a clean slice across his windpipe. Absently, Shay shook the blood off of his gloves and took out the next marksman with the same throwing knife he'd slit the first one's throat with. He crumpled silently onto the roof tiles with the small knife lodged in his base of his neck. The gang's flag, bearing the Assassins' emblem, was flying nearby as well. That, Shay cut down, folded neatly and shoved into an empty grenade pouch attached to his belt. He figured it would be best to hand it over to Haytham. He'd want to know if the Assassins were backing the gangs again, and he'd want proof.

Shay hopped onto the roof of the main building of the gang's compound and skidded down a drainage pipe into a thick clump of vegetation. He disarmed and silently killed the guard standing next to it with a hidden blade, and looked around for the leader. He spotted her standing near a large metal drum as she oversaw some men rifling through the Templar fleet's records that had been left in the base when it was attacked. Shay hoped none of the information had gotten to their higher ups; if the ships en route to India were intercepted it would be a nightmare. Deciding that he was done wasting time, he pulled out his pistol and shot the gang leader cleanly through the back of the head. She fell in an awkward heap, and the men scrambled to respond. Shay must have killed about fifteen of them before the rest grew a brain and fled the scene.

Covered in blood, some of which was his, Shay rolled up the fleet's naval charts and shoved them under his arm. He also emptied out the gang's strongbox and kicked a criminal that was still (albeit barely) breathing in the ribs.

Sometime near midnight, Shay made it back to Fort Arsenal. Haytham was nowhere to be found, so he just tossed the bloodied naval charts and Assassin flag unceremoniously onto his desk. He'd deal with it in the morning.

* * *

Shay lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He longed to be sailing the north sea, bundled in warm blankets in his cabin on board the _Morrigan_. He was safe there; nothing could touch him. The cold salt air made him feel alive, unlike the stench of New York. To him, the sea meant freedom whereas the narrow streets of Greenwich felt like a cage. A large gilded cage, but still a cage. Miserably, he rolled over and tucked his head under the duvet. Shay had seen to the few insignificant wounds he'd acquired while making mincemeat of the gang. It didn't bother him, really. He was covered in scars as it was, what difference did a few more small ones make?

Sleep wouldn't come to him, though, even tired as he was. The headache was mostly gone, a decent meal and some strong tea had taken care of that. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, he could swear that Liam was there with him. He haunted Shay, in both his dreams and his waking hours. Shay tried to tell himself that maybe it was for the better. After all, the nightmares of Liam were ridden with guilt and pain, rather than pure adrenaline and terror like the ones of Lisbon. It was almost a relief to wake up in a state of misery, instead of lying face-down on the floor with his heart pounding and his breath stuck in his throat.

After a while, he gave up on sleeping and padded down the stairs to the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, ill-fitting canvas pants that he liked to sleep in. There were some scones in a basket on the counter, so he grabbed one and sat on the stool near the little wooden table in the center of the room. Absentmindedly, he took a bite of the slightly stale blueberry scone and stared into the cooling embers that flickered in the grate on the other side of the kitchen.

A vivid memory of sitting on the floor in the rat-hole of a home he'd shared with Liam before they went to stay at the homestead flashed through his mind. He'd been curled up in his threadbare blanket with a cup of tea and a fresh blueberry scone from the bakery down the street. Liam was beside him, with Shay's head resting on his shoulder and his arm curled around his waist. It was a cold winter's night, and the thin walls did little to keep the chill out, but there was a warmth there that Shay knew he would never feel again.

He threw the scone across the kitchen and watched as it landed in the still-burning embers. Glad that no one could see him on the verge of tears like a besotted woman, he leaned forward with his head in his hands and took a shaky breath. He wasn't coping. He couldn't take it any longer, nor could he keep lying to himself. He wasn't all right anymore. He was broken into too many pieces to be put back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three sheets to the wind – really, really drunk
> 
> Tosspot – a drunkard
> 
> Half Seas Over – half drunk, tipsy


	2. Milking the Pigeon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have to admit, the best part of writing this was looking up 18th century slang. Some of it is downright hilarious. Also, the chapters switch POV between Shay and Haytham every other one. Though, this should be fairly obvious.

To say Haytham was worried about Shay would be a gross understatement. He wasn't sure what the others expected of him, really. The man was only human, and everyone had a breaking point. Some were just harder to reach than others. If he had to listen to Charles or Benjamin complaining about Shay's apparent drinking habit one more time, he'd kill one of them. Gist and Thomas at least kept their mouths shut. To be fair, he expected both of them knew better than to call the kettle black, and Gist was around Shay often enough to understand the difficulty he was having in dealing with his friends' deaths. At least after Hope, Haytham had been able to keep him busy enough to distract him. He'd seen the signs then, but Liam apparently had been the last straw.

Now, however, there wasn't much for Shay to occupy himself with seeing as he'd exhausted the few leads they had on the precursor box for the time being. He wasn't the type to sit around handling the more bureaucratic aspects of the Order, after all. There really wasn't much to do about it, either. Shay would just have to sort himself out on his own; he was a grown man after all, and he'd made his choices. Haytham just wouldn't be too hard on him unless he veered off the right path and back to the Assassins, not that he had any reason to suspect such a thing. Shay was nothing if not a loyal Templar.

"Well, that is rather distasteful..." Haytham, muttered, crinkling his nose at the sight of the bloodstained naval maps left on his desk. He unrolled one and remembered that the ships dispatched to India were due back during the week, according to Shay's meticulous entries in the ledger. ...He hoped they didn't run into any trouble, not that there was a whole lot to be done about it at that point. He shoved the maps aside and didn't need to bother unfolding the yellowish canvas flag to know it bore the Assassin insignia. Shay wouldn't have brought it otherwise. Well, that was bothersome. They were like a nest of tenacious cockroaches, even without Achilles to guide them and Hope to rally the local criminals.

"Sir, we have a problem." Haytham frowned, and turned to face Charles who was standing in the open doorway with a look on his face like someone had died. That was never a good sign.

"What is it?" Haytham asked, snatching the Assassin flag and dropping it into the fireplace like the refuse that it was.

"We've just received word that we've lost Fort Baie Rouge to the Assassins, and they've been laying waste to our ships around the North Sea. Apparently they've acquired a new vessel, the _Aquila_ , and she's on par with our Morrigan." Charles explained glumly. Haytham was just glad it might give Shay something to do, and set out to locate him immediately.

He found Shay in the armory, sitting in the middle of the floor with one of his pistols in pieces around him. It was old, and well worn with a plain wooden handle and a bit of corrosion on the metal parts from being at sea for so long. Shay mumbled something about it having a clog in the barrel, and didn't even look at Haytham. Haytham crouched down beside him, and noticed with some amount of concern that his hands were shaking.

"We've lost Fort Baie Rouge," He said flatly. "And a ship called the _Aquila_ needs dealing with _._ Is there anything you know about this that we don't?"

"About the fort? No, that's news t'me. The _Aquila_ 's been a right royal pain, though. She's makin' a wreck o' our fleet. The _Morrigan_ ain't enough to deal with her alone. I'm goin' to send a few frigates after her when I get news about the mission in India. Sooner if we don't hear anythin' by the end o' the week. That ought t'light a fire under her arse." Shay explained and got up, brushing dust off his pants.

"We should recapture the fort in the meantime, then." Haytham suggested, watching Shay place the reassembled pistol back on its display.

"No, not until the _Aquila_ is dealt with. I don't know who her captain is, but I reckon old Faulkner is still her first mate and that man is one hell o' a sailor, if the stories are true. We won't be able to hold the fort until after we sink the _Aquila_." Shay explained dully. Apparently she'd been giving him problems for a while now, and he hadn't seen the need to mention it. "She ain't easy t'get rid of neither. She nearly sunk in a storm while chasin' a Templar trade ship here a couple years back. They must o' repaired or rebuilt her."

"...In a storm you say?" Haytham asked curiously, recalling the ship that had tailed the Providence nearly all the way to colonies in a last ditch effort to eliminate him. He'd seen the foremast get struck by lightening and the ship lost its bearings instantly. She couldn't have survived that... Could she?

"Aye, lost her main mast but she made it back to safety in one piece. The men sailin' for the fleet have taken to calling her the 'ghost o' the north sea'. She's been givin' them no in end in trouble." Shay replied. "Rushin' in after her won't do us no good, unless you fancy diggin' graves. She's lighter'n faster than the _Morrigan_ in a good wind, and armed nearly as well."

"Damn," Haytham said, shaking his head. "Is nothing ever easy?"

"Not in my experience." Shay retorted, finally cracking a weak smile.

"Nor mine." The Grandmaster conceded with a wince. "Walk with me, would you?" He added and headed out toward the foyer, knowing Shay would follow whether he answered or not. It was disconcerting sometimes, how obedient Shay was for the most part – in spite of his occasional total lack of manners. But unlike Charles, he wasn't fishing for praise or a promotion. Shay was doing his job, to the best of his ability. True, sometimes he questioned his orders, but the reasons were normally legitimate strategical concerns. And, in the few cases that Shay disobeyed a direct command, it usually led to less bloodshed and better results. He was highly efficient, and Haytham had far more respect for his judgment in the field than that of any of the others that worked for him currently.

"Where are we goin', Sir?" Shay asked, a few paces behind Haytham as he stepped through the door leading to the courtyard. Shay closed it behind him as Haytham looked skyward with a frown. "It'll be a few hours at least before it starts stormin'. Not 'til after sundown, probably." Shay said, answering Haytham's unspoken but obvious concerns.

"Hm. Very well then." Haytham said offhandedly and waved to one of the guards near the main gate. He stepped aside and nodded politely to the two men as they passed. He thought to ask Shay how he could tell exactly when it would storm, but he assumed it was some old sailor's trick rather than some kind of sixth sense. Speaking of a sixth sense...

Haytham stopped in his tracks and whirled around as the faint, yet unmistakable gurgling sound of a man drowning in his own blood from a slit windpipe caught his ears. Shay gave him a knowing glance and dropped the lifeless corpse of a would-be Assassin behind the pile of hay he'd apparently tried to leap out of. He wiped the blood off his hands on the hay and kicked enough of it over the body to hide it for a while. It should have worried Haytham that he could kill a man and dispose of the evidence without so much as batting an eyelash, yet such a thought would be hypocritical at best. Haytham was raised to be a killer. Shay may have became one out of necessity, because murder was preferable to starvation, but both of them were still human beneath it all.

"You should watch your back, Sir. There's more o' them about." Shay said in a low tone and walked at Haytham's side rather than behind him.

"Do you think they will try to take Fort Arsenal back?" Haytham asked, now cautiously eying every niche that could hide a man.

"They can have it over my dead body." Shay grunted, and kicked a bit of refuse out of his way. With some amusement, Haytham thought that he might be a little grateful for all those years of only rarely leaving his family home as a child. City streets were loaded with filth, regardless of what city it was. At least New York was somewhat less disgusting than London, and smelled much better than Boston with that reeking mill pond.

Shay raised his eyebrows when Haytham led him to a bustling tavern, and held the door open for him. He had the tact not to comment and stepped inside, dodging a husky brunette barmaid carrying a pile of tankards balanced precariously on a wooden tray as he did. They found their way to an empty table in the far corner. Haytham sat by the foggy window, and Shay dragged a chair out from under a thoroughly unsuspecting drunk sailor, as there was only one at the table. Haytham tried, and failed, not to chuckle quietly to himself when the poor man fell on his rump and Shay just ignored his slurred cussing entirely.

"Why're we here, Sir?" Shay finally asked, waving over one of the barmaids. She was a willowy little thing with pale blonde hair and a terrible, still wet beer stain on on her powder blue dress. One of the patrons must have spilled their drink on her for refusing them an illicit favor or two. "Whiskey. Or rum, whichever ain't piss water." Shay said gruffly, hardly sparing her a second glace.

"A beer will suffice." Haytham added, nodding his head in clear dismissal. She left without a word.

"Beer? I half expected you t'order some sort o' posh vintage." Shay commented with a snort.

"I actually prefer beer or ale, and sometimes rum. But then, my father _was_ a pirate. I suppose I inherited some of his traits." Haytham told him flatly. "As for why we are here... I think you are well aware that we need to have a proper conversation about you behavior over the past couple of weeks, and that there was no way you were getting off that easily."

"This is hardly the place -"

"I think it is _just_ the place. Charles isn't here to bother me with tilly-tally I couldn't care less about, and Gist isn't here to try and defend you while he's so drunk himself that he's barely standing. Don't worry, he is going to get a lecture, too." Haytham replied tartly, and Shay stifled a bark of laughter as the barmaid reappeared and thumped their drinks down onto the table that was slightly warped from years of spilled liquor.

"I don't know what you want me t'say. I don't regret it. If anythin', I'm itchin' to feed Charles his teeth for stoppin' me." Shay admitted, taking a swig of the whiskey. He made a face and stared down into the metal tankard in disgust. "I said I wanted whichever _wasn't_ watered down piss." He grumbled and shook his head.

"I honestly don't care if you regret it or not," Haytham told him, meeting his eyes in a sharp glare. "If drinking yourself into oblivion actually helped, I would have let you carry on for a while longer. That is my concern, Shay. You are a danger to yourself and those around you. You have become reckless at best. If you don't find a healthy way to deal with the morass of guilt you're harboring, it is going to kill you. Actually, it will probably kill _all_ of us if we manage to get caught in the crossfire."

"That's easier said than done, Sir." Shay growled, and gulped down some of the horrible excuse for whiskey. "D'ya even know what you're bloody sayin'? You're askin' me to milk the pigeon, y'know? I killed my best friend. He saved my sorry arse from the streets, and I killed him. I know I had t'do it, and I don't regret that, but it don't make it any easier. And that's not even countin' the thousands that died in Lisbon."

"You had no control over what happened in Lisbon." Haytham reassured him in a firm tone.

"Maybe not, but I did with the others. I keep tellin' myself that they had to die, and I know they did, but I wish t'God I didn't have to be the one to do it. I don't want your pity, and I ain't havin' this conversation sober." Shay snapped icily and knocked back most of the whiskey. How he could drink like that was beyond Haytham, but he was Irish _and_ a sailor.

"I am not here to offer pity. That word is hardly in my vocabulary. I _am_ offering an ultimatum: Get your wits about you, or there _will_ be consequences. I care about your well-being Shay, but I have limits. I have a rite of the Templar Order to maintain, and _you_ have a responsibility to that Order as well. There cannot be a repeat of this, and there is precious little that I can do do to help you if you have no desire to help yourself." Haytham hissed, barely audible over the rumble of drunken tavern patrons and a group of women singing near the bar.

"That sounds more like you, Boss." Shay said glumly, and dumped the rest of the whiskey into the large terracotta planter on the floor next to him that was housing some kind of exotic palm plant. Haytham hoped it wouldn't kill the poor plant. "But... I don't know what t'do. There's days I've thought about goin' after the _Aquila_ myself, just because I know I _won't_ survive it."

"If you want to talk about it, I am willing to listen. It's a start, anyway. You should know by now that I won't judge you based on your past, either." Haytham told him, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. Trying to get Shay to discuss anything of a personal or emotional nature was about as useful as attempting to argue with a brick wall. Haytham knew he was a poor choice to tackle that beast, when he was no less stubborn himself. Still, the only one he knew of that that Shay trusted enough to be open with was Gist, and that would just end in a tavern romp for the record books. ...And most likely more than a few dead bodies and/or illegitimate children.

"I... Fine. But not here. Not today." Shay finally ground out and dropped a few silver coins on the table for the drinks, and a fine a tip for the barmaid that looked like she was having far worse than the usual bad day. Haytham counted it as a victory and let Shay lead the way back to Fort Arsenal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milking the pigeon – to do the impossible
> 
> Tilly-tally – nonsense, trivial BS


	3. The Ghost of the North Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of disappointed that the Aquila wasn't one of the legendary battles in Rogue, or at least mentioned. If she gave the Templars such problems, you'd think Shay would've been involved in wrecking her. And I know it was supposed be the Royal Navy that ambushed her but... *cough*

The man o' war Shay had dispatched to India never returned. He hadn't expected it to, not after the Assassins got a hold of his plans for the Templar fleet. Whether the _Soleil_ had been sunken or taken was an entirely different question, but not a priority. The _Aquila_ , however, had used up the last of her luck.

Shay paced the length of the _Morrigan_ 's deck restlessly _._ He was aware of Haytham watching him out of the corner of his eye from where he waited at the helm, but chose to ignore him. He had one hand resting on the _Morrigan_ 's wheel, and the other on the the hilt of his sword. That, Shay knew, was an unconscious habit that he himself shared – gained from years of necessary paranoia. Gist was on Haytham's right, looking suitably cowed and obviously avoiding the Grandmaster's eye. He must have gotten quite the shaming from Haytham in regards to his own shenanigans. Speaking of which, Shay knew the dreaded conversation with Haytham about his wreckage of a mental state couldn't be avoided much longer. However, as much as he loathed to admit it, he _was_ thinking a bit more clearly since they'd discussed it.

Shay cleared his throat loudly. "Gist, get down here." He ordered, inclining his head toward the docks where two men were approaching. They were Thompson and O'Reily, the captains of the _Marie_ and _Alouette_ , two of the three Frigates in the Templar fleet – 'liberated' from the French, of course. Shay hopped down from the deck of the _Morrigan_ and landed easily on the docks beside the two men. Gist followed, stumbling a bit as he climbed down.

"O'Reily's told me that Baker got himself killed on a run-in with the _Aquila_ last month. That means the _Cherise_ has no captain. But, I need all three o' them for this to work, because we're goin' after our 'ghost o' the north sea'. Gist, I need you to captain the _Cherise_ temporarily. Haytham will serve as my first mate for now." Shay explained, and the other two captains nodded to show their understanding.

"This is goin' t'be a risky battle, but she en't goin' to know what hit her." Shay continued. "The _Morrigan_ will serve as a flagship, and the three o' you will flank her. If we can keep her from hittin' and runnin', we'll make short work o' her with our combined firepower."

"This is a terrible idea. You need me on board the _Morrigan_." Gist complained, glaring at Shay in annoyance. Shay just ignored him. He had this all thought out, and he was _not_ going to argue about trifles this late in the plan.

"Just do it; the _Cherise_ is docked at the waterfront. Keep her behind the _Morrigan._ Thompson, keep the _Marie_ to port, and O'Riely will keep the _Alouette_ at my starboard side. Don't break formation unless we need t'box the _Aquila_ in, or I tell you otherwise. Oh, and if one o' you cock robins puts a hole in the _Morrigan_ 's hull, I'll put one in your skull. Watch where you're aiming; it might get tricky."

* * *

"Full sail! Get up that riggin'!" Shay barked, turning the wheel hard to starboard to avoid a nasty chunk of ice. The sky was clouding over, and the air had a bitter chill. It would snow soon, probably before morning. They had to press on before they lost visibility. It wasn't going to be an easy fight as it was; the last thing they needed was to sink each other because they couldn't see through the damned snow. It didn't matter, assuming Shay timed it right, they would run across the _Aquila_ shortly after dawn of the next day. She'd left Halifax a day ahead of them, and as far as they knew, the crew had no idea they were being pursued. ...Not that Shay was taking that for granted.

"How long do you intend to avoid the inevitable, Shay?" Haytham asked, folding his arms across his chest for warmth. He was obviously not handling the cold very well, but never once complained. The crew answered to him without a the slightest hesitation as well. He had that air of authority about him and if he made an order, they scrambled to obey. Shay was beginning to wonder if he'd need to remind them who was _actually_ their captain.

"Mills, take the wheel. Martin, fill in for Haytham. Just keep heading due east, and come get me if anythin's evenly slightly amiss." Shay called, and two men came bounding to the upper deck. Mills, a seedy character, yet a lethal marksman, took the tiller. Martin, a muscular beast of an Irishman gave Haytham a curt nod and took his place. Both of them had been members of the _Morrigan_ 's original crew when Shay was still an Assassin, but they owed their loyalty exclusively to Shay, regardless of his allegiances. He saved both their arses from being put down like dogs for smuggling. They'd fight to the death if he asked it of them, and they'd do so without question or complaint.

"Shall we?" Shay asked, gesturing for Haytham to follow him. He threw open the doors to his cabin, and took a deep breath of the warm air that felt like fire after being in the cold for so long. With a sigh, he plopped himself down in the chair behind the large mahogany desk and neatly folded the map of the north Atlantic that was laid out across it. Haytham sat down across from him and fixed Shay with an expectant stare.

"I'm not sure where to begin. So I guess I'll just start with the hardest part: Liam." Shay said, and leaned forward against the desk, resting his head in hands. "I don't want to to talk about this, but I have to, or nothin' will make much sense. Liam and I were... Well, we were lovers once. If you tell a soul that, I swear I will shoot you in the cock."

Haytham didn't say a word, though he did make a small sound of surprise at the revelation.

"We grew up together. My father was a sailor, and his was a farmer. When my ol' man died in a storm at sea and I had nowhere t'go, Liam looked out for me. I worked for my keep, but I got into a lot o' trouble too. Bar fights and the like. Liam was always saving my arse. I took more'n a few good beatin's back then. Eventually, times got harder. Liam already worked for the Assassins, but kept me out o' it to protect me – until we decided we were tired of livin' like beggars and moved to the homestead. They were like family t'me, Hope and Liam both. Even Achilles, before he sent me after that blasted artifact. Liam taught me to fight and shoot proper, and it was Hope that taught me stealth. Achilles gave me my first set o' pistols." Shay continued, hating dredging up the memories of happier times. Haytham just let him talk, keeping his comments to himself.

"Killin' Hope almost did me in. She was always hard on me, but she was just pushin' me to be my best. Y'see, Hope didn't waste time or energy scolding people she didn't like, that couldn't better themselves. She knew what it was like to live in the gutter, too." Shay explained, recalling Hope's face and that pretentious smirk she reserved for when she bested him in a sparring match.

"Liam... He..." Shay faltered and looked away from Haytham. "For as long as I care to remember, he was a part o' my life. I wished I could be half the man he was; he kept me grounded. I doubt I would've survived those years without him. The thing, though, is that it's killin' me that I never really said goodbye. I just sneaked into the manor, stole the manuscript and made a run for it. I always thought it was Liam that shot me, come to find it out it was Chevalier and that Liam didn't even try to stop me. Liam was smart, and preferred to do things with as little bloodshed as possible. Maybe he could've even seen things from our point o' view. I never gave him that chance."

"It was a risk you could not afford to take." Haytham reminded him.

"I know that, but it don't change the fact that I can't sleep without seein' his face, or even just bein' here... He was my first mate when I took this ship from the British that attacked Chevalier's Garfaut. Seeing him dyin', it..." Shay just shook his head and fell silent.

"You mustn't blame yourself for this, Shay. It is not - "

"Captain! The _Aquila_ 's just opened fire on the _Alouette_!" Martin shouted, banging on the door to the captain's cabin. Shay swore vehemently and made a beeline for the door with Haytham hot on his heels. He collected himself as quickly as he could, it wouldn't do to be distracted by long-gone nostalgia now.

"Bloody hell, where did she come from?! She should be hours ahead of us!" Haytham hissed as Shay shoved Mills away from the wheel, and barked orders to the crew.

Somehow, they managed to regain their formation and trapped the _Aquila_ between the _Cherise_ and _Alouette._ The _Morrigan_ and _Marie_ rained mortar shot down on her like the hammer of God. It put more than a few holes in her hull, but the _Alouette_ took a nasty hit from a volley of heavy shot and and was sinking fast. Shay managed to bring the _Morrigan_ around and got most of her crew on board while Haytham gave the commands to keep firing on the _Aquila._

The fight took hours, but some well-aimed mortar from the _Cherise_ snapped the _Aquila_ 's main mast off right at the base. The scout in the crow's nest fell screaming to his death, and at least four of the crewmen were crushed under the mast as it fell. Shay recognized the first mate, Faulkner, as he managed to avoid taking a shot from one of the _Morrigan_ 's puckle guns. The _Aquila_ 's captain wasn't so lucky. It took his head clean off and blew their powder store to smithereens in one go. Faulkner scrambled to his feet and took the tiller, calling out orders to fire everything they had on the _Morrigan_. That, at least, went according to plan.

Shay knew that once they recognized the _Morrigan_ with both he and Haytham on board, that they would do everything they could to sink her. It was the perfect bait. It would get them the Templar's best ship and the lives of both the Grandmaster and the turncoat that had laid waste to their brotherhood – all in one fell swoop. It'd be worth it, even if it killed them all. Well, that was what _they_ were thinking anyway. Unfortunately for the Assassins, Shay had no intention of letting them take him to Hell with them. When Faulkner brought them along broadside, it left them wide open to a volley of heavy shot from the _Cherise_.

"Full sail! We need speed!" Shay yelled, turning the wheel hard in the direction of the badly damaged _Aquila_. One more good hit, and she was as good as gone. "Brace!" Shay howled, holding tight to the wheel. Haytham just managed to grab onto the railing in front of him as the _Morrigan_ 's ice ram slammed into the _Aquila_ 's hull at full force. The splintering of wood and the hopeless screams of the enemy crew that had been in the line of fire filled the air.

"Give me all the sail we have!" Faulkner commanded, wiping blood from his face where a piece of debris had struck him. Through shear luck, he managed to steer the _Aquila_ clear of mortar fire from the _Marie_ and a strong gust of wind propelled the listing, wreckage of a ship out of range for all three of the Templar vessels. Haytham swore more obscenely than Shay thought him physically capable of.

"Let her go." Shay said, bringing the _Morrigan_ back on course from where the rogue wind that saved the Aquila had nearly blown her over. "Full stop! Pull back!" Shay hollered, and the crew grudgingly obeyed.

"We almost have her!" Haytham snapped, betrayal in his voice.

"It don't matter. There's not a shipwright in the world that can fix that. They might be able to ground her somewhere and save themselves before she takes on too much water, but the _Aquila_ 's little more'n a floatin' scrap heap. ... _If_ she stays floatin'. They know they're beat, and they don't have the resources to replace her." Shay explained, motioning for Gist to hang back as the _Cherise_ blew past the _Morrigan_ , still in pursuit. He must have gotten the sign, as the frigate slowed to halt beside the _Marie_ a little ways ahead of the _Morrigan_.

"Very well. As long as they stay out of our affairs, there's hardly any point in slaughtering her crew." Haytham agreed with a curt nod. Shay looked at him as he stared straight ahead, at the horizon that was blurred out by hazy, low-hanging snow clouds. There were holes torn in his cape from a few narrowly avoided musket balls from when they'd gotten in shooting range of the _Aquila_ , and his hat had been blown off by the sudden gust earlier. It was by far the most disheveled he'd ever seen the Grandmaster.

"You know, Shay, I really hope you don't handle your women the way you handle your ship. You're awfully forceful with her." Haytham said with a smirk and Shay only stared at him, open-mouthed as a few of crew that were close enough to hear burst into hearty laughter. Shay thanked whatever Gods there were that Gist hadn't heard it. He'd have had a field day with that one. ...After he, like Shay, had been rendered utterly speechless by the rather uncharacteristic comment.

"Aye, and which city has the fairest lasses? New York or Boston?" Shay asked, fondly recalling a completely innocent conversation he'd once had with Liam that led to a heated debate over whether or not the whores in Havana were better in the sack than the ones back home in New York. Not that Liam would ever admit to having participated in said conversation. Then he thought of how Haytham was standing just where Liam always did, and wondered how in God's name that had come to be. ...Even if it was only a temporary arrangement.

"That's not something I ever thought of much," Haytham admitted after a long pause. "I rarely have the time to waste on trivial things."

"I hope you don't treat _your_ women like 'trivial things'..."

"That's quite enough, Shay!"


	4. Cat and Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just listened to one of Loomer's podcasts where they had the voice actors from AC say 'I'm so tired of your shit!'... And I can't get 'I'm so tired of your shite, Haytham! I don't want to hear it anymore!' in Shay's voice out of my head. Oh God. I may have to do a oneshot based on that glorious thing.

Shay was avoiding Haytham; that much was obvious. The Grandmaster didn't bother trying to hunt him down, though. It was hardly worth the effort. If Shay didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. It really was as simple as that. He needed space, probably. He was still struggling with own internal battle, and Haytham knew full well that cornering him wouldn't help. If he wanted to continue where their conversation in the _Morrigan_ 's cabin had left off, Shay would seek him out when he was ready - and not a damned moment before.

That was why he had other plans. ...Mostly because he was bloody tired of waiting.

"Gist, a moment please?" Haytham asked, knocking on the open door of Shay's office. Gist was alone there, bent over the ledger for the Templar fleet. Neither of them had seen hide nor hair of Shay since their return to New York. He hadn't left as there were signs of his presence, but he must have been using all of his training as an Assassin to avoid them like the plague.

"What is it, Boss?" Gist asked, shutting the ledger.

"Have you seen Shay about?" Haytham replied, seating himself in the chair across from the worn wooden desk.

"No, sir, I haven't." Gist told him. "I hope he stops this nonsense soon. Last I _did_ see him, he was melancholy as a gib cat."

"And when was that, exactly?" Haytham asked irritably.

"Three days ago. He's been here, though. Either that, or someone with very similar handwriting to his sneaked in this morning, and charted a course for the Duke and Sussex to intercept a French convoy near Fogo." Gist explained, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We'll have to sort him out somehow. Fort Baie Rouge isn't going to take itself back from the Assassins."

"No, it isn't." Haytham agreed, and swept out of the room without another word. In truth, he was kind of amazed by Shay's ability to carry out his duties without being seen. He'd even rooted out an Assassin conspiracy to take control of New York's imports and killed the man responsible. ...Or so Haytham assumed. How discreetly it was handled, and the fact that the local authorities were still scrambling to find the find the businessman's killer, was a clear sign that it was Shay's work. As irritated as he was with Shay's behavior, Haytham had to give him some credit for being able to balance his own misery and the Order's work so well. It wouldn't have been a problem, if Haytham wasn't well aware that it was only a matter of time until Shay reached his breaking point.

He needed to get him back. He just had no idea how. Either way, tracking him down was the first step. He knew backing the ex-Assassin into a corner was a terrible idea that would do nothing to gain his trust, but Haytham was out of options. He'd given him an ultimatum after all, one he'd either chosen to ignore or was incapable of dealing with on his own. Haytham suspected the latter, though the odds that Shay would ever admit it were as likely as a blizzard in Hell.

Shay (most likely unknowingly) left small clues to his movements that Haytham picked up on with ease. His notes and plans for the fleet were the most obvious marks of his presence. There were small things too, like missing ammunition from the armory and a random pattern of objects being moved in his room at night over the course of the following days. He wasn't lucky enough to actually catch Shay in there, however. He didn't expect to be, the hunter was being as cautious as ever. He left nothing to chance on a mission, and he obviously felt the same about his sudden bout of avoidance.

Haytham was forced to give up his routine of scouring Fort Arsenal for any sign of Shay that he could track, when Charles burst into his office about a week later. Haytham looked up from the rite's financial ledger in obvious irritation and gave Charles a glare that could sour milk.

"Sir, there's something going on at the brewery. The whole place has gone up in smoke, and it looks like the gangs are having another all out war with the British patrols." Charles said, all in one breath. He looked like he'd ran back there; his coat was disheveled and his hair stuck out at odd angles where it come loose from the ribbon holding it in place. There was only one thought in Haytham's mind: Shay.

"I will handle this, I want you and the others to stay here." Haytham said, and ran to the armory to gather his weapons. It was a distraction. Shay was using the local thugs to draw attention from something. But what? Well, finding that out wouldn't be too hard. He'd just have to run in the opposite direction.

Avoiding the crowds and the criminals fighting the guards in the street had been no mean feat, but he overheard a lovely rumor about a garden party in Manhattan. Supposedly it was a gathering of wealthy merchants plotting to cut off trade with England to avoid the taxes. Shay would be there, Haytham knew that. The question was one of who he was targeting and why.

Infiltrating the party had been child's play. He lay in wait, hiding inside of a flowering shrub as he watched the guests mingle. It became obvious why Shay was interested in the gathering. A woman, dressed in a pale green gown with bright red hair caught Haytham's attention immediately. She was not in control of the proceedings; it was the other guests that spoke of rebellion against the crown and their unfair taxation. Regardless, she was clearly a major player, and flitted between groups of guests with a practiced grace. She appeared used to such dealings, and was likely simply gathering information. As she turned to accept a glass of wine from a waiter, Haytham caught the glint of metal under her lace cuffs. A hidden blade.

At the first (and only) time she was alone near the dessert table, was when Shay struck. Haytham barely recognized him dressed in a fine black tailcoat with gold and red accents. But from the way he walked, wary and observant of surroundings, Haytham knew it was him in an instant. Barely seconds passed as he clapped a hand over her mouth and drove his own hidden blade through her heart from behind. She hadn't even fallen silently to the ground before Shay vanished over the white fence.

Haytham shook the stiffness out of his limbs and followed, barely managing to keep Shay in his sights as he tore through the streets, Haytham taking to the rooftops. Eventually, Shay slowed his pace as he came to a small open market. Haytham watched like a hawk from around a pile of wooden crates nearby as Shay made a show of browsing a tea merchant's goods. He was listening carefully for any signs of pursuit, searching out of the corners of his eyes for any sudden flashes of movement. Haytham saw him glance in his direction and flattened himself against the wall as he eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than they had elsewhere. Shay knew he was there, but wasn't trying to lose him, Haytham realized. If he _had_ wanted to shake Haytham off his trail, he would have done so by now. Intrigued, Haytham followed him from the shadows.

Shay took his time, stopping to buy an apple from a produce seller and a bag of some kind of treats from a small bakery. He looked over his shoulder every now and again. Haytham couldn't tell if it was an unconscious habit born of the natural skill-set of a practiced hunter, or if he was making sure that he was indeed being followed. He stopped at the door of an old boarding house, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he discreetly observed his surroundings. Apparently satisfied, he entered. Haytham waited a few seconds before climbing the east wall, stopping to peer through the windows of the rented rooms. On the very top floor in the right front corner of the building, he found Shay's room. He'd left the window wide open and was sitting in a worn leather chair with one of the Templar fleet's charts spread out on a table in front of him.

By now Haytham was positive Shay had purposely led him there. He _never_ would have left a window open with his back to it. ...A window that any Assassin could easily (and silently) fit through with no difficulty.

"I was wonderin' when the bloody hell you'd find me, Sir." Shay called, just as Haytham braced himself to slip through the open window. "I'm a little disappointed it took causin' a ruckus like that to get your attention. ...And that Gist, that beef-head, didn't figure out that the 'coordinates' I penned in the naval ledger were the address to this place and my room number."

"You are impossible." Haytham said with a scowl and hopped down into the sparsely decorated room. "Why go to these lengths to avoid us, yet lure me here?"

Shay rolled up the maps for the fleet, and turned to face Haytham. "'Cause it was you who I wanted to talk with. I knew the others wouldn't know how t'find the trail. Bring your arse to an anchor already."

"You could have just come to my office if you wanted to talk, Shay." Haytham replied, seating himself on the edge of the bed that took up most of the small room.

"Not without Charles listenin' at the door for a chance to lick your boots." Shay grumbled, and Haytham couldn't help but let out an amused snort of laughter.

"All right, I'll grant you that." Haytham conceded. "So what is so important that you resorted to this?" Shay shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared blankly out the window at the setting sun before he finally answered.

"You know, recitin' this in my head was a heck of a lot easier." Shay grumbled and looked down at this hands that were folded in his lap and, Haytham noticed, shaking slightly. "I know you told me to deal with this, but I can't. I'm tryin', really, but I don't know what t'do."

"Am I correct to assume there is more to it than what you told me before?" Haytham asked with genuine concern.

"Aye, but I wouldn't know how to put words to it if I wanted to." Shay told him dejectedly. "I don't regret any of it; I know I was doin' right. I'd do it all again, if I had to. It's just... It's _hard._ Was hard, I guess. It's a little easier now that I've killed off everyone I knew personally. ...But the fact is, I did just that, and all the rag-water in the world ain't goin' to change it, or make it hurt any less."

"Well, you could come home for a start. Staying here isn't going to do you a lick of good." Haytham told him sagely. Shay opened his mouth to protest but Haytham cut him short before he could speak. "Think back to how this all began, when you found yourself still breathing and in the Finnegans' care when you escaped Achilles' homestead. How did you cope then?"

"That was before I ran Hope through the heart and shot Adéwalé in the head!" Shay cried in exasperation.

"I know, but what did you do then?" Haytham pressed.

"I helped Monro sort out the gangs here, and rebuild some o' the places they destroyed. I knew nothin' could make up for what happened in Lisbon, but he thought that doin' right by people could give me purpose and direction." Shay answered, suddenly interested in the warped wooden floorboards beneath his feet.

"And did that help?" Haytham demanded.

"For a while, Aye."

"What changed?"

"It's just too little, and too late." Shay told him, finally meeting Haytham's eyes. Haytham sighed; he should have known Shay was too much of a realist to be comforted by such ideals, no matter how well-meaning they might be. But what could he do? Shay had brought him here hoping for some kind of guidance, but Haytham had none to offer.

They sat in a stony silence before Shay finally spoke up. "We have to take back Fort Baie Rouge. Would you come with me? I'm not sure I can tolerate Gist right now. He has a habit for guilt-trippin' and I don't think he even knows he's doin' it. 'Sides, the crew likes you."

"Of course," Haytham told him without any hesitation. In truth, he was secretly glad for the opportunity. Maybe it was in his blood, but Haytham enjoyed being at sea. Granted, the trip on board the _Providence_ had been anything but pleasant, but sailing with the _Morrigan_ 's crew was different. They were a jovial bunch who took whatever the winds threw at them in stride. There wasn't any drama either, they respected their Captain, and he them.

"Meet me at the docks at sunrise, then." Shay said, sadness evident in his voice.

"I will be there," Haytham assured him, and took Shay's clear note of dismissal for what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melancholy as a gib cat – down in the dumps
> 
> Beef-head – idiot
> 
> Bring your ass to an anchor – take a seat
> 
> rag-water – cheap liquor


	5. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I'd really like some feedback on this story! It's kind of an ambitious project for me! :3

Shay paced the boarding house room restlessly after Haytham left the way he'd come – through the window. He didn't know why he asked him to come with him to reclaim the fort, the comment about Gist had been nothing but noise. In truth, he just wanted Haytham there with him. He was a wreck on a good day, but his fear of disappointing Haytham was the one thing keeping him in line. Shay simply seemed to be able to think more clearly when he was with the Grandmaster. Maybe it was because he knew the truth of his ties to Liam, and how difficult it really was for him to hunt the brotherhood down. Gist knew some of it, but not the depths of what he'd felt for Liam. Haytham didn't know that either, really.

Knowing that he was at least alive was enough for Shay after he left the homestead, but that wasn't the case any longer. The only thing that gave him solace was the fact that Liam died from injuries he'd sustained when he fell during the quake, and not from anything Shay had done. That may have been a blessing in itself, because Shay knew he'd never be able to turn his blade on Liam.

Shay shook his head and slammed the open window shut, making sure to slide the lock into place. He'd never really thought of ever trying to move on, to find someone else – a woman to marry maybe. No one ever made him feel the way Liam did – no, that wasn't true. He just didn't like thinking about it, or the fact that a pathetic desire just to be in Haytham's company was what really prompted him to ask the Grandmaster to come along with him to the North Atlantic. There was nothing romantic there, though. The mere notion of that would be laughable at best. Still, he knew the others were concerned for him, yet Haytham was the only one actually trying to _help_. That, Shay had to admit, was the last thing he'd ever expected. Haytham was cold, unsociable and not the easiest person to approach by any means. Yet, he'd gone out of his way to look out for Shay's well-being.

Miserably, Shay threw himself onto the bed. He'd need to get some rest if he was going to sea in the morning.

* * *

Good as his word, Haytham was waiting near the harbor master's when Shay arrived at the waterfront. He nodded his head in greeting as Shay approached carrying a pile of maps and his spyglass. Haytham didn't look like he'd slept any better than Shay had, but neither of them made a comment. Shay gestured toward the _Morrigan_ that was docked nearby and Haytham followed without a word.

"What did you tell them?" Shay asked as he waved to Mills who was waiting on the docks beside the _Morrigan_.

"That you and I are making a trip to Boston to track down a possible lead on the precursor box." Haytham answered smoothly. "Gist was rather put out that he was not invited, but I gave him enough work to keep him too busy to remember his own name."

"I suppose that'll do." Shay replied and leaped the gap between the dock and the _Morrigan_ 's deck with ease. Haytham followed and took his place on the upper deck beside Shay.

"All right boys, let's get movin'!" Shay ordered after handing the maps to Mills. He felt marginally better to be leaving New York behind for a while. Maybe they actually _would_ go to Boston afterward. He had no new leads and Haytham knew it, but it wouldn't hurt to pick up some goods for trade. The Order didn't run itself on good intentions, after all.

Most of the day passed in silence between Haytham and Shay. Both of them occasionally sang along with the crew's shanties, but they hadn't really spoken to each other since leaving. It didn't bother Shay much. It was perfect sailing weather, a little cloudy with a good, strong wind. He took a deep breath of the salt air, letting it calm his nerves. In spite of his father's death, and all the difficulties his ship had faced, Shay was never afraid of the open sea. Rather, he felt at home.

"You should get some rest, Shay. I can take the tiller if you want." Haytham said to Shay, who blinked and yawned loudly. He hadn't even realized he was falling asleep where he stood until Haytham's words snapped him out of his trance. He nodded, and let go of the wheel. Haytham knew quite a lot about sailing, though it had been Shay who taught him the the actual mechanics of it during their last trip. He wasn't worried about leaving the _Morrigan_ in his care; there was nothing but open sea for the next week and the crew would keep the bearings for him.

* * *

Shay struggled to stay on his feet as the ground buckled and shook beneath him. The sound of a woman screaming her child's name and begging God to save him made something snap in Shay's chest. He panted raggedly, scaling a wall that was already leaning toward the ground. Shear force of will kept him moving as he vaulted from a windowpane onto the crumbling clay roof tiles of another building. Keep moving forward, he told himself as he braced for the impact of a falling watchtower that crushed the row of buildings in front of him. Catching his breath, Shay pressed onward. Flames licked at his clothes as he leaped across an expanse of burning debris. He could see the harbor now. Only a little further...

Scaffolding collapsed in front of him,blocking his way to the docks. Cursing, and running on pure adrenaline, Shay strafed hard to the right to avoid it and darted down a side street. He leaped over the wreckage of a home and skidded to a halt in front of another pile of burning timber. The dead eyes of a young man looked up at him, almost accusingly. Then, the panic started to set it.

He kept running; it was all he could do. Shay flew up a set of marble stairs as they cracked and turned to dust under his feet. He slid along the ground to keep from being crushed by a falling wall, and stumbled to his feet just in time to climb the side of a still intact general store. Tearing across the rooftops, he threw himself in the shattered window of a watchtower near the harbor. The force of yet another tremor sent him flying across the room and straight through the window on the other side. The glass splintered into half a million pieces as Shay fell and hit the water hard.

The impact forced the air from his lungs as he fought to get control of his limbs. The choppy waves tossed him about like a piece of driftwood as he fruitlessly kicked trying to reach the surface. He could see the sunlight dancing on the water, but it felt like something was pulling him down. His lungs burned with the need for air and his vision went hazy. But just before it all faded to black, something grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the surface. Desperately, Shay clung to the side of the little wooden rowboat, gasping for breath as his rescuer pulled him up by his shoulders. He could swear that his heart stopped when he saw Haytham Kenway dripping wet, sans his hat and cape.

Shay came awake on the floor of his cabin on board the _Morrigan_ with a pained gasp. His heart pounded in his chest. He gathered his wits and crawled into his chair near the desk. He poured himself half a tankard of strong whiskey and knocked it back like water, just as the door to the cabin opened. He blinked in confusion, and frowned when he saw Haytham standing there.

"Shay? Is everything all right?" He asked.

"Nightmare." Shay grumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

"Odd, you were calling my name." Haytham replied. Shay wished he could simply crawl into a hole and die. Calling his name? That was a new low, one he'd rather pretend never happened.

"I don't recall that." Shay said shakily, knowing Haytham could see right through the thinly veiled lie. Haytham pulled the door shut behind him and seated himself in the chair in front of the desk. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. He was waiting for a proper explanation, and Shay knew he wouldn't leave until he had it. He swallowed, but his throat was as dry as old parchment and he coughed instead. Wordlessly, Shay poured himself more whiskey and downed it.

"Lisbon." He choked out. "I was drownin' and... You pulled me out o' the water just before..." He shook his head hopelessly. That was as good of recount as Haytham was going to get, like it or not. In the silence that followed, Shay wondered if the dream had been symbolic rather than his usual nightmares. In a sense, it fit. Haytham _was_ trying to drag him out of the abyss. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The thought calmed him considerably.

"I see... How often do you have these nightmares?" Haytham asked, but even Shay knew that Haytham was aware of the answer and just saying anything that came to mind to fill the silence.

"A better question might be 'when don't I have them?'" Shay answered glumly, and something in Haytham's stormy grey eyes made him wonder what it was Haytham actually saw in him. Why was he going to these lengths to try and save him from himself? His priorities should be to the order, not sailing to Fort Baie Rouge on what Shay was sure Haytham knew was just a whim.

Shay leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and hiding his face in his hands. It was pathetic, and he'd admit it over his dead body, but he'd give anything not to have to sleep alone. The hardest thing after leaving the Assassins was waking up to an empty bed, without Liam beside him. The other Assassin had been a trusted confidant and so, so much more than that. That was what he needed now, more than anything, but he had no one like that. Haytham was dangerously close to it, and that unsettled Shay a bit. When had the Grandmaster, who had never been anything but cold and calculating, become the person Shay wanted to run to? Yet at the same time, the _last_ thing he wanted Haytham to see was this consuming weakness.

"Shay? Are you well?"

"Depends on the definition." He replied, sounding broken. Vacantly, he wondered how Haytham would react if he asked him to hold him as Liam had years ago. The mental image _almost_ made him crack a smile, if only because Haytham was sure to think he was joking. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice Haytham get up and stand beside him until he lightly rested one of his hands on Shay's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Where did that come from, Shay wondered. Haytham had zero patience for whining. So, again, why was he putting up with Shay's melodrama? Regardless, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I'm sorry for all this. It feels like I'm findin' fault with a fat goose. I need to move on, but I can't let go." Shay replied, without looking up. He felt dangerously close to crying, and that was the _last_ thing he wanted Haytham to see.

"You are only human, Shay."

"Please leave me alone for a while." He managed to say in a reasonably even tone.

"No," Haytham said firmly. "You need to face this. If you keep running, it only gets worse. Trust me, I know. Whatever it is you are not telling me -"

"It wouldn't make a difference, it's not somethin' you can fix!" Shay growled.

"Let _me_ be the judge of that." Haytham said, still clearly refusing to leave.

"I just hope you don't think any less o' me..." Shay mumbled and hid his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finding fault with a fat goose – whining, basically. Pointless complaining for attention, that sort of thing.


	6. How to Mend a Broken Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if Shay seems like some kind of sad little emo kid. That's not what I'm going for, but you've got to admit that he has to be at least a little messed up after the things he's lived through. Anyway, this chapter's a little short so... Double update! I hope you're all enjoying reading this as much I am writing it.

Shay didn't answer right away, he just stared at his hands as if his silence might be enough to make Haytham lose his patience and leave him to wallow in his misery. It didn't work. Haytham tapped his fingers the arms of his chair, out of Shay's line of sight. He'd never had the misfortune of having to discipline badly behaved children, but he imaged this was pretty close to how some of them might respond when backed into a corner. ...And maybe that wasn't the right way to approach this. For all he knew, Shay might react like an angry cat if he didn't see a line of escape. Just as Haytham was thinking it might be better to avoid the claws and spitting, Shay finally broke the silence.

"I'm tired o' this life, tired o' the killin' and the guilt. ...But I made this bed and now I have to lie in it. I know that." Shay replied, still not meeting Haytham's eyes. "The worst thing, though, is that I'm sick o' bein' alone. Everythin' else, I can live with. I hated bein' an Assassin. Hell, I hate bein' a Templar too, but I know how important our work is and I'm not about to abandon it. But I wasn't alone then, like I am now. I'm not as strong as the lot o' you think I am. I never was. Liam was always my strength. You can't fix that. No one can."

"Shay -!"

Shay didn't reply, he just got up and left the cabin without another word. The crew probably wouldn't notice anything off about him unless he drove the ship into an ice burg to spite himself. Shay, Haytham now knew, was a lot better at hiding his emotions than he ever imagined. How much pain was behind that seemingly easy smile? Shay was right though; he couldn't fix it. But he _was_ wrong about something. He wasn't alone. He was just too damn stubborn to let anyone in. Gist had tried, and obviously gone about it the wrong way. He meant well but he didn't always think before he opened his mouth. Gist also wasn't nearly as tenacious as Haytham. He wasn't about to give up on Shay, even if the man's own pride could very well wind up being the death of him.

Haytham dug through the drawers in Shay's desk for a bit of parchment and a pen. Thoughtfully, he dipped the pen in the inkwell and neatly addressed a note to Shay. He rewrote it several times before he decided it was passable. He read it one last time as the ink dried, before carefully folding it and leaving it on the small table beside Shay's bed, where he was sure to find it.

As expected, Shay completely ignored Haytham's presence when he returned to the deck. The weather was turning foul, and snow was starting to fall heavily. Haytham watched as the other man absently brushed some of the wet white powder off his shoulders and shook it out of his hair like a dog might. The crew was mostly quiet, some of them running off to their quarters to bundle up properly as a chill wind was picking up with a vengeance. Shay just wrapped his gloved hands tighter around the wheel. His jaw was clenched and if Haytham read the signs right, he was furious with himself more than anything. Though, he wasn't sure if it was because he had shown weakness or something else entirely.

Strangely, all Haytham really wanted was for him to be at peace with himself. He still couldn't figure out why he cared so much. If anything, he'd have given his soul to know what Liam's secret was. How had Liam been able to get through to him? What was it that he had done to keep Shay looking forward? Surely it wasn't the sex, not that Haytham particularly wanted to think about that. If it had been, Shay would have had an entire harem of whores at his side rather than trying to drink away the memories. That much, Haytham was sure of. Shay was nothing if not good at running from his demons. Clearly the state he worked himself into was a clear sign that he'd finally bolted straight into a dead end with no gold bridge leading out.

He yawned, inhaling snowflakes and wondered for a moment what exactly it was he _liked_ about sailing. Haytham wished Shay a good evening, which was completely ignored, and returned to his cabin for the night. Haytham lay awake, staring at the rafters above him. Sleep never came easily for him, but even less so tonight. The answer was obvious, Shay needed a confidant but there was more to it than that. He didn't want to be alone, did that mean he wanted a lover? No, Haytham doubted that. But one thing was starting to make sense.

Liam wasn't just Shay's friend and lover. He was his protector. Shay had said himself that Liam had saved him from the streets, and more than a few tavern brawls gone wrong. Liam had seen Shay at his worst, and dragged him back to his feet instead of letting him dwell on his mistakes. He hadn't given him space to work it out on his own. He'd probably backed him up against a metaphorical wall and told him to get his shite together. ...Which was basically what Haytham had done. Although, Shay wasn't terrified of disappointing Liam. And that, Haytham realized was the thing that was holding him back. Like Charles, Shay needed his approval, craved it even. Though, _unlike_ Charles, Shay wasn't angling for rank and prestige within the order.

What Shay needed wasn't a lover. He needed someone to keep his arse in line, pick up the pieces, and not think any less of him for being a little broken.

Deciding that sleep was just going to keep eluding him, Haytham sat up in his bed and lit the small whale oil lamp that was sitting on a wooden crate next to him. His (technically Gist's) 'cabin' was actually the back corner of the cargo hold. There was just his bed, a small writing desk, a dresser and some cabinets for storage. In other words, it was hardly glorious, but better than a hammock in the crew's quarters. The area was boxed in by walls of neatly stocked crates of cargo, leaving only an opening wide enough to walk through that led to an equally narrow path to the hatch. Haytham pulled on his coat and grabbed the lantern. He'd tried to navigate the winding pathway in the dark once, and had no intention of repeating that particular experience.

The deck was quiet, aside from a few of the crew members milling about playing a game of cards nearby. He could see Mills at the wheel, with his long blonde hair tied back with a ratty scrap of red cloth. He had his head bowed against the snow. Haytham assumed that Shay had gone to bed, and leaned against the railing to look at the choppy waves below the _Morrigan_ 's hull.

"How far to Fort Baie Rouge?" Haytham called to Mills.

"We're not goin' there." Though, it wasn't Mills that answered. It was Shay. He was sitting with his back turned to Haytham, playing cards with the other men. Haytham could see his hand from where he standing, and winced. He had this game won, that was for sure.

"What?" He asked incredulously. "That was the whole point! We need to -!"

"There's nothin' left o' it, Sir." Shay explained. "We passed by a British convoy about an hour ago. The captain said they were heading to New York seein' as the fort was abandoned and blown to smithereens. They didn't find anythin' but rottin' bodies when they went ashore. The Assassins just destroyed it, apparently. They didn't garrison it."

"That makes no sense," Haytham replied shaking his head. "It would have been to their advantage to seize the fort rather than destroy it."

"I don't think they have the manpower to maintain it." Shay told him cryptically. "Their numbers in the colonies aren't what they used t'be. It would make them vulnerable if they spread themselves too thin. They're just tryin' to make as much chaos for us as they can. It's better'n nothin' in their eyes."

"So now what?" Haytham inquired, seating himself beside Shay. He seemed calmer than before. That was a good sign. At least he wasn't ignoring him for the time being.

"Whatever you want, Sir. We can head back to New York, or Boston if you'd like. Maybe check in on Pitcairn and the others." Shay suggested, tossing his hand, a royal flush, down on the deck. Haytham would bet money on him cheating; no one was that lucky. There was a collective groaning from the others as they slid the pot (a motley collection of odd trinkets) in Shay's direction. He just waved it off and told them to keep their things, that he was only playing for something to do with himself. ...Which Haytham knew meant he wasn't sleeping either.

"No, I want to see the fort with my own eyes." Haytham told Shay firmly.

"As you wish, Sir." Shay grumbled. "Mills, set a course back east!" Mills didn't reply, but the _Morrigan_ slowly turned back on course.

"You should rest, Shay." Haytham told him. "This storm doesn't seem to be letting up." Shay finally turned to face him and gave him a look that quite plainly stated his opinion on that matter. Haytham raised his eyebrows, and Shay gave in without even saying a word. He muttered something under his breath and stalked off to his cabin.

"Startin' to feel like a hen-frigate 'round here, eh boys?" Martin piped up, laughing. It took Haytham far longer than it should have for him to pick up on the comment, and the others had already fallen into hysterics by then.

"I assure you gentlemen, that even if we engaged in such a relationship, by _no means_ would I be the bloody _wife._ " Haytham hissed.

"Aww, didn't know you was _engaged_!" One of the other men chimed in. Haytham turned his back on them, swearing to himself as he headed back to his own cabin. He figured Shay would be more than a little angry if he taught them a lesson or two in the meaning of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hen-frigate: A ship that's ran by the Captain's wife.
> 
> Gold Bridge: An easy means of escape


	7. Never Assume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly warning that this chapter has some PTSD symptoms!
> 
> ...And we're finally getting somewhere!

Shay wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He just didn't have it in himself to disobey Haytham. ...Even for something as insignificant as taking a bit of rest. It irritated him a bit, yet at the same time it was something of a comfort. If Haytham still bothered to give him pointless orders, he hadn't made a mess of things. Yet. Miserably, Shay sat down at his desk in the captain's cabin. He was afraid to sleep, when it came down to it. ...Never mind the nightmares. What if he woke up screaming Haytham's name again? Mills had said to 'just kiss the man already' when he left the cabin after that _horrible_ conversation. Shay had told him, in no uncertain terms, right where he could shove that idea.

With a sigh, he reached for his pen to fill in the ship's log for the day. It wasn't there. He frowned and dug around a bit, finding it neatly tucked away in the top drawer with the inkwell. Haytham. He must have used it. Shay was too lazy to bother putting it away half the time. Absently, he opened the old leather bound log that he'd had since he commandeered the _Morrigan_. There was a page torn out, right after where he'd recorded the previous day's progress. A surge of annoyance that Haytham would touch his things passed through him, but then he recalled that he _had_ in fact given Haytham permission to use whatever he needed. ...So what had he been writing?

Shay shook his head and filled in the log, reporting the news about the fort and Haytham's decision to press onward. He flipped the book shut, and nearly crawled to his bed as he realized for the first time in days how tired he actually was. That was when he saw the scrap of neatly folded paper tucked under the edge of the book he'd left on his bedside table. Curiously, he pulled it out and knew from the feel of it that it was part of the missing page from the _Morrigan_ 's logbook. Curiously, he unfolded it. It had only one sentence written on it, in Haytham's tidy scrawl. 'You are not alone; never assume that I will think less of you, or that I would ever look down upon you in the first place.'

Shay stared at it for a moment, at a total loss. Why couldn't Haytham have just said that? Oh, right. He stormed out of the room and ignored his presence for the rest of the afternoon like some kind of petulant child. He was thankful that Haytham apparently wasn't angry with him. Shay tucked the scrap of paper back under the book and laid down on the bed. He needed sleep. He was in no condition to try to analyze the cryptic message that could have several possible meanings. That and... He didn't know what to do about the fort. He had to think of some kind of excuse not to go onshore. The image in his head was enough to make him nauseous. Destroyed buildings, dead bodies strewn in the debris – no. He had to stop thinking about it. It wasn't Lisbon. It wasn't his fault this time.

With a small sound of frustration, Shay yanked the blanket out from under him and wrapped it around himself. He fell into a fitful sleep soon after, his dreams a series of broken images of dead eyes staring up at him and blood on his hands.

When he dragged himself out of the cabin the following morning at dawn, he hardly felt rested at all. He took his place at the helm, beside Haytham who was already up. He greeted Shay with a polite nod of his head, which he wordlessly returned. He didn't really feel like talking. He felt like he might actually be dead and not even know it. He fought the urge to tell Haytham to stand somewhere – _anywhere_ – else. Something about him being in Liam's old position was giving him an ulcer. He couldn't even begin to put words to all the mixed up emotions where the Grandmaster was concerned. There was respect and trust, sure. ...But there was also something else, something else he didn't want to acknowledge because he knew it would never lead to anything good. He tried to steer his thoughts away from that path, from wondering if there could be something between them like what he'd had with Liam. He knew he could never replace Liam, but if Haytham could be... Shay shook his head, as if the motion would dash the idea from his mind. Haytham wouldn't want that, and there was no good reason that he should. Besides, he would probably think Shay had finally lost his mind if he ever suggested a such a thing. _Never assume..._

Shay glanced at Haytham out of the corner of his eye. He was looking straight ahead, with his hands resting on the railing. The snow had stopped for the most part, but it was still windy so he'd left his hat in his cabin. Instead, he wore he his usual overcoat with a thick woolen scarf.

"Something on your mind, Shay?" Haytham asked, without even looking at him. It was as if he knew that Shay was thinking about him.

"Aye, the fort... Why are we botherin' to go all this way? It's just three skips of a louse, if you ask me." Shay replied. It was the truth, but not at all what was on his mind.

"It probably is, but we need to be sure." Haytham replied in a tone that clearly implied that he knew Shay was avoiding the issue, as usual.

"Sir," Shay began to say, and faltered for a moment. He checked to make sure none of the crew members were around before he continued speaking. "When we get there, would it be alright if I... If I don't go on shore?"

"Why?" Haytham asked, frowning. "Surely it's not anything you have not seen before."

"That's just it. I _have_ seen it before." Shay replied, gripping the wheel so hard it hurt.

"I understand. I will take a few of the crew with me, you may stay behind if you prefer." Haytham replied, with a nod. Shay let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and felt some of the tension go with it. He'd rather not go there at all, but this he could live with.

* * *

It took them another week to make it to the ruined fort. Shay watched as Haytham nimbly jumped down onto the broken docks, splashing a bit of frigid seawater on his coat. Shay took a deep breath and followed. He had meant to stay, but he didn't feel like explaining why to the crew.

"You do not have to do this." Haytham reminded him as they approached the caved in main gate. Shay sloshed through the slushy, wet snow beside him and shook his head.

"It's fine." He replied. It wasn't, and he knew damn well that it wouldn't be. But, given a choice, he'd rather have an emotional crisis in front of Haytham than explain to his crew that he was actually terrified to go ashore because he was probably going to have flashbacks of Lisbon. ...Not that any of them really understood. They weren't there. Well, Mills and Martin had been, but they never left the ship.

The first body was laying in a heap near the gate, his limbs twisted in unnatural angels. Haytham averted his eyes from the fallen redcoat, but kept going. Shay tried not to think of how well the ice had preserved the poor man's corpse. There were more slowly decaying bodies strewn about the inner courtyard in random places. Some of them with their weapons still in hand. Four of them were crushed beneath a fallen wall that belonged to one of the guard towers. Shay's heart began to race, and his breath caught in his throat. He could swear he could hear that poor woman screaming her child's name, begging God to spare her little boy. There was the scent of blood in the air, and burning flesh as innocent people died, trapped in burning buildings that fallen in on themselves. Shay fell to his knees, panic consuming him as he fought to remember how to breathe. It was just another nightmare. He had to wake up. ...But why was it so cold?

"I suppose there is little point in reclaiming this place. It is not really worth the – Shay!" Haytham's voice sounded far away, and he tried to call out to him but he'd fallen through the window and the water was rushing to met him -

"Shay!" Shay gasped, choking on the icy northern air. It took him a moment to remember where he was, as his mind tried to process why he was lying in the snow with Haytham kneeling over him. "Can you hear me?" Shay nodded stiffly and forced himself to sit up. He shivered, though not entirely from the cold and shoved his badly shaking hands under his arms.

"...Lisbon." Haytham said, and Shay nodded silently trying to breathe enough to ease the pain in his chest. Carefully, he hauled Shay back to his feet and led him to a crumbled brick wall just outside the main gate, where the bodies and most of destruction weren't visible. He sat Shay down on the edge, and took the space beside him.

"You need to breathe, Shay." Haytham told him patiently. "This isn't Portugal. It's the north sea. You're safe here, and you did nothing to harm these people."

"I... Know." Shay replied hoarsely. "Sorry, I... Should have stayed."

"Why did you come?" Haytham pressed.

"Because I can't keep runnin'." Shay mumbled, a little more coherently. He felt like he'd fallen off a horse half drunk and landed in a spike pit. Vacantly, his mind registered the warm weight of Haytham's hand on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch unconsciously, clinging to Haytham's presence like some kind of an anchor. Slowly, he came back to reality and wondered if he'd ever be able to look Haytham in the eye again. All this, because he didn't have the stones to think of some lame excuse to stay on board the _Morrigan_. But was that really it? Or was it something else? Maybe he wanted to try and face his demons, knowing that he wasn't alone this time.

Not alone.

He took a breath and choked on it, coughing violently. Haytham wordlessly held him upright until it passed. Shay fought back tears, watching as his shaky breaths rose in misty clouds before him. He leaned against Haytham's shoulder, for physical support mostly. But he couldn't help but think of how badly he longed for something as simple as the warmth of human contact.

"We should get you back to the _Morrigan_. The cold won't do you any good." Haytham said, and stood, pulling Shay up with him.

The hunter staggered, but gained his footing and let Haytham lead him back the ship. Haytham fed the crew some story about how Shay had fallen on a patch of ice, and nearly shoved him through the door of his cabin in an attempt to save him the shame he'd been so desperately trying to avoid. Haytham ignored Shay's protests and sat him down on the edge of his bed. He pulled the thick duvet over Shay's shoulders and took a seat beside him, but not close enough to touch like before. Shay glanced over at Haytham who appeared to be deep in thought, but he seemed to know he was being watched and gave Shay a slight smile.

That was when Shay realized that he was completely, and utterly dead as nit. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and wondered if there was any hope for him at all. It had started as an internal conflict of whether or not he could trust Haytham as a confidant... Which had evolved into more than a few thoughts of them together. But now, it was suddenly clear. Black and white, even. In stark clarity.

He wanted Haytham, had probably wanted him from the day they met. He looked up, his dark hazel eyes meeting Haytham's steely gray ones, and he wondered how to put words to it. If he _should_ put words to it. What if he rejected him? It'd kill him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three skips of a louse – worthless, or complete a waste of time.
> 
> Dead as nit – dead, really super dead.


	8. Good to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely irrelevant, but did anyone else notice that Mary Read and Shay have almost the same scar on their face?

Haytham had known something was wrong with Shay as soon as they set foot on the shore. He was jumpy, nervous and honestly just seemed to be completely traumatized. ...Which, needless to say, was utterly out of character. He also knew that from the way Shay tried to steel himself after seeing the first broken body, that he should probably tell him to wait. He'd seen this before with soldiers, when he'd worked alongside Braddock during and after the siege of Fort Bergen Op Zoom. Certain things could trigger memories of traumatic experiences and they'd fall into a state of shock that it was never easy to pull them out of. Well, assuming he'd gotten to the poor bastards before Braddock, who had about as much patience as a starving lion with a steak dangling in front of its nose. ...But what was it about this place that was getting to Shay? Dead bodies alone wouldn't do this to him.

Haytham had outright panicked when Shay nearly passed out, babbling something about a child he had to save. It wasn't until he saw the guardsmen crushed under the fallen wall that the pieces fell into place. The level of destruction, the placement of the bodies... It reminded him of Lisbon, which had been a horrid enough affair that it lead to Shay questioning everything he'd believed in. Surely, it left him with a few scars besides the visible ones. Regardless, seeing Shay fall apart like that had been unnerving at best, but Haytham had seen worse. Besides, what was he going to do? Leave him there? Never.

He watched Shay like a hawk as he drew the red satin duvet tighter around his shoulders. He'd calmed down considerably once Haytham had gotten him into the captain's cabin. Luckily, the crew seemed to have bought the story about him falling on some ice. He'd also barked orders at them to set a course for New York, and could feel the Morrigan begin to move away from the shore. Shay looked up then. The longing and pain Haytham saw in his eyes was overwhelming. For a moment, he wondered if Shay would stab him with something if he touched him. Really, he just wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. Playing the cold-hearted killer was a thousand times easier than compassion for Haytham.

"Can I ask you somethin', Sir?" Shay finally spoke, giving Haytham an odd sort of stare.

"Certainly." Haytham replied, glad to see him finally in an apparently stable condition.

"When I told you that Liam was my lover, did that change anythin'?" Shay inquired, looking away. Haytham raised his eyebrows. Where was he going with this? What did it matter? He'd seen far worse with what had happened to Jenny and Jim Holden. What was it to Haytham if Shay's tastes were a little deviant? It wasn't like he or Liam had been forced against their will, or hurt anyone because of what they shared.

"Change anything? No. It put a few things in their proper context, certainly. But I do not see why it should change anything." Haytham replied, looking out the window at Fort Baie Rouge slowly vanishing in the distance.

"And you don't see anythin'... Wrong with it?" Shay pressed, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders so he could remove his coat that was wet from falling in the snow. Haytham watched him silently, starting to get a sense of what Shay was _really_ trying to ask. And how did he feel about _that_ exactly? He chose his words carefully.

"Not especially," Haytham told him with a shrug. "I do not see how any harm could come of it. There are far worse things in the world." The silence that followed was palpable, but companionable. He'd _finally_ gotten somewhere with Shay, that much was obvious. He was less evasive, and Haytham suspected that may have been half the reason Shay went ashore with him. Perhaps he felt safe with Haytham. Maybe the whole reason he'd even asked Haytham to come was because he already knew what had befallen the fort, and doubted he could handle dealing with it alone. Actually, that was looking more and more like a viable theory.

"That's good t'know." Shay said quietly after a while. Was it, now? Haytham had no idea how to feel about that, really. To him, such feelings were an alien thing. Even sex he'd really only ever used to gain an advantage in a few schemes in the past, or just because he needed a good romp every now and again - like any other man. Ziio was different, of course. But even then, it fell apart. He'd like to blame Charles for that, really he would, but deep down Haytham knew it was his own damn fault. He stole a glance at Shay who seemed to be intently studying the pattern embroidered into his blanket. ...Anything to avoid to meeting Haytham's eyes. He wondered if letting Shay come along had done more damage than good.

"I'll be alright," Shay said after a while. "Why don't you make sure Mills doesn't think we're doin' somethin' untoward." Haytham scoffed, but took the opportunity to escape for what it was.

Back outside he took a deep breath of the icy air, hoping it might clear his head. Absently he bade Mills to return to his post in the crow's nest and took the _Morrigan_ 's wheel. He wondered if it was in his blood, how he quickly he'd learned how to maneuver the ship. It felt like second nature to him – as simple as breathing. Regardless, it was relaxing and carefully steering Shay's beloved _Morrigan_ around the mess of ice burgs took his attention away from his thoughts of her captain. Haytham would never admit it, but above all else, he was scared. If there was one thing he didn't understand, it was human affection – laughable though it might sound. He wanted to help Shay as he was a valuable asset to the Templar Order that he could not afford to lose, nothing more. But now... Now it was more than that.

"Master Kenway?" Haytham grunted noncommittally and didn't even look at Martin who was acting as the First Mate. "I asked if you thought we should stop in Halifax on the way back? We're runnin' low on provisions."

"I suppose that would be prudent." Haytham replied, not even really thinking about it. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so distracted. He doubted he ever had been. His upbringing by both his father and Reginald had never allowed him to lose sight of his path. He questioned everything, and analyzed it until he understood it in his own way. There was an order and purpose to everything he did, a method behind the madness. But he just could _not_ for the life of him make sense of the sudden affection he felt for Shay. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. ...It probably wasn't even sudden. It had likely been stalking him from behind for some time, and tackled him when he least suspected it.

* * *

Shay didn't leave his cabin for three days, only emerging for food and other necessities. Haytham piloted the _Morrigan_ , and Mills took over for him when he stole a few hours of fitful sleep in between. Near noon on the fourth day, Haytham had decided he was tired of Shay's childish shite. He gripped the _Morrigan'_ s wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, and it was a wonder he hadn't ground his teeth to dust. The very second he was about to hand her over to Mills and kick down the door to Shay's cabin, he _finally_ decided to grace the crew with his presence.

"Where are we?" Shay asked sheepishly, coming up to stand behind Haytham.

"About a day to Halifax. We shall be stopping to resupply." Haytham snapped, immediately regretting the steel in his tone.

"How's your leg, Cap'n?" Martin called, giving Shay a familiar smile.

"My leg? Oh it... Fine." Shay mumbled and stood beside Haytham, resting his hands on the railing in front of him. Haytham ignored him, and steered the _Morrigan_ around a nasty chunk of rock sticking out of the ocean. Shay made a face and grabbed onto the rail to keep his footing when the ship tilted a bit too far to the side. Some of the crewmen snickered to themselves, one of them commenting about posh British gits and their need to overcompensate.

"Apologies." Haytham said with a bit of a wince. Shay laughed quietly and shook his head.

"It takes practice, more'n you've had yet anyway. Don't worry about it so much, Sir." Shay said, giving him a warm smile. ...And that was all it took to cool the mindless anger that had been welling up inside of him over the past three days. A smile. He wanted to stab something for the irony of it all. "D'you want me to take the wheel? You've got t'sleep sometime."

Haytham sighed, and moved aside to let Shay take his usual place at the helm. He didn't leave, though. He just took up his post as First Mate and shooed Martin away, barking Shay's orders to switch to full sail. Shay didn't comment, he just gave Haytham an odd look and stared straight ahead at the open sea. They'd be able to see Halifax's coast soon, maybe even reach it before nightfall tomorrow with a little luck. He watched Shay out of the corner of his eye. He seemed calmer than he had been before they left New York. Perhaps the journey hadn't been a waste, after all.

"What'll we do when get home?" Shay asked, breaking the companionable silence.

"Right now there is not much on our plate, unless something came up while we were away. But with the French defeated, we have some good opportunities to work our way into solid standing within the political system. Well, that is mine and the others' line of work, anyway. I'm sure I will find some task to put you to." Haytham replied, watching a gull circling overhead. Good, that meant they were close to land.

"Aye, I'm sure you will." Shay said with a smirk. "I vote for makin' Charles scrub out the jakes, though." He added with a chuckle.

"Hire a bloody maid. Charles isn't your cleaning lady." Haytham grumbled in mock annoyance.

"Thank God for that, I'd hate t'see him in a maid's outfit." Shay retorted, and both of them burst into helpless laughter. Somehow, Haytham knew he'd knew remember that afternoon for years to come. It was the first time in his life that he'd ever felt truly at ease, without having to wear a metaphorical mask to keep those around him at an arm's length. Still, he had to question everything he thought he knew. ...Because why did it feel so _right_ to laugh and joke with Shay when it was in his nature to scoff at such behavior? What was it about being with Shay that brought out both the best and worst in him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jakes – outhouse/privy


	9. Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Might be a bit late with the next couple updates. I'm having kind of an internal struggle with how I want to write Haytham and I need to mess with a few things in what I already have written. Like, I'm sort of halfway through reading Forsaken (which maybe I just need to finish...), and have played AC3 more times than I care to count... Yet, there's never really any time that Haytham seems to express any kind of real sexual interest in anyone other than Ziio. And even then he's all kinds of conflicted. Like shit, he's in the middle of a Turkish Harem surrounded by gorgeous half naked ladies and doesn't pop a boner... I don't even... Asexual...? Or is he just that gay for Shay? XD

"There was really _nothing_ left of it?" Shay glared at Gist from over the top of a pile of rolled up naval charts heaped on his desk at Fort Arsenal. He'd been back in New York for a little over a week, and reduced to helping manage the Order's finances. There wasn't much else for him to do, what with the Assassins under hatches and the criminals either dead or sent packing.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Gist? There's nothin' left to bother wastin' the time and resources to rebuild." Shay snapped icily. He didn't really want to talk about the fate of Fort Baie Rouge, especially not with the memory his pathetic meltdown still painfully fresh in his memory.

His thoughts drifted to Haytham, and he still couldn't figure out how he'd found himself apparently infatuated with the man. Not that he'd acted on it. They were entirely too cold, tired and cranky after the whole escapade to talk much of anything but business on the way home. Though, it didn't really bother Shay much. Haytham had seen him at his worst, and hadn't turned his back on him. That spoke volumes, really. True, Shay was anything but stable emotionally, but he wasn't alone anymore. Just knowing that gave him something worth hanging onto, and he couldn't remember the last time he honestly felt that way. ...The last thing Shay needed to do was muck the whole thing up by letting the Grand Master find out that he was secretly undressing him with his eyes every time his glance wandered in his direction.

"Shay?" Shay tilted his head slightly in a questioning gesture. Gist grumbled in annoyance. "I asked if you kissed Master Kenway yet. Mills wanted to know..." Gist _just_ managed to dodge the book that Shay hurled at his head. It wound up on the floor in the hall, after hitting the wall on the other side of the open door with a loud thud.

"Well, I'll take that as a yes. I'm surprised, Shay. I didn't think you had it in you..."

"Keep talkin' shitbird, and I'll cut off your cock and shove it up your arse. _Sideways_." Shay growled, giving Gist a warning glare and aiming another book.

"Honestly, I would pay good money to see that." Both men turned in surprise to see Ben Church standing in the open doorway holding the fist book Shay had thrown at Gist. "It's a damn pity I don't have the time. Shay, Master Kenway sent me to inform you that he needs you in his office - immediately."

"Aye." Shay grumbled, and pushed his chair back with a loud scrape on the wooden floor. What did he want? Shay only hoped he found something that could be solved with violence, because he was itching to sink his blades into something to release some of the mindless pent-up frustration.

"Give him a hug for me, Shay. Oh, and a proper ravishing for Charles who's probably drowning in his own bitter tears of jealousy somewhere by now." Gist said and Ben nearly choked to death for how heartily he was laughing. Shay bit back a litany of cussing and settled for leveling them both with what he hoped was a menacing glare.

"I'm goin' to tan both o' your hides later." He retorted and sulked out of the room. He could hear Ben and Gist's hysterics all the way down the hall. Why was it that everyone else seemed to see something that he wasn't sure of himself? No. That wasn't an image Shay needed in his mind right now. Haytham probably had work for him. Besides, if anything ever came of his feelings, he'd die before he let anyone else know about it. Haytham, he was sure, would at least agree on that. The man was practically the living definition of discretion. He knocked three times on the hard wooden surface of Haytham's office door, and didn't even wait for an answer before he shoved it open and walked in. Haytham looked up from the large leather-bound journal he was writing in and gave Shay a forced sort of smile. He carried that book everywhere with him, Shay knew. Once or twice, he'd tried to sneak a peek at its contents, but Haytham _never_ let it out of his sight. He closed the door behind him quietly and took a seat in the vacant velvet chair in front of Haytham's desk.

"Where is Charles?" Haytham asked.

"According to Gist, drownin' himself in jealous tears." Shay replied with a shrug. Haytham let out a sound of amusement. "Remind me to stab Mills."

"Such drama. It is beyond me why they feel the need to invent this nonsense. It is like dealing with children. Really, though. Where is he?" Haytham pressed, closing his journal and stowing it in the top drawer of his desk.

"Bailin' Thomas' idiot arse out of boarding school. He got caught passin' off fake coins at the market again." Shay explained. "Why?"

"Because if he was here, I was going to give him some work to do." Haytham said with a nonchalant shrug. "I do have a job for you, however."

"What is it?" Shay inquired, fidgeting a bit in his seat. Please let it be something other than this bureaucratic nonsense, he prayed silently.

"We need to replace the _Soleil_. The Assassins are not powerless without the _Aquila_ , even if we have knocked them down a peg." Haytham explained, digging through one of his desk drawers for something. "Do you think you can manage that?"

"It'll be no trouble, Sir. The frogs might've lost the war, but they're still skulkin' about. I'll have the fleet take one o' their vessels." Shay replied as Haytham got up from the desk and they both went for the door. He hoped he managed to hide the disappointment. He could set sail himself, sure, but that would mean leaving. Strangely, he didn't really want to leave New York. ...Didn't want to leave Haytham.

"Excellent. Now, I unfortunately need to give Thomas a proper lecture about behaving like a responsible adult. It is not like I do not pay him more than enough _real_ money to spend at the market. I suppose you are free to go for the time being, so long as you see to your tasks." Haytham said, though something in his tone made Shay wonder if he really wanted to send him away. Shay dashed the thought from his mind, and told himself for the hundredth time that he needed to stop pining after a man that had about as much interest in him as Thomas had in sobriety.

"If you say so." Shay mumbled, and definitely did _not_ purposely let his hand brush against Haytham's as they parted ways. He was starved for touch; that was obvious. He hadn't really thought much of it in recent times, but Shay couldn't even begin to describe the sudden, odd sort of longing he felt just to be close to another human being. How long had it been since he'd lain with another? Not since the first weeks after leaving the Finnegan's, as far as he could recall. Though, that had been an utterly pathetic and ill-advised attempt to force himself to let go of Liam. Still, in all honesty, it took most of the self control he possessed not to throw himself at Haytham as he slowly made his way down the hall with his back turned to Shay. And where had _that_ come from? It didn't help that Shay had never been more conflicted in his life, either. Part of him told him that he needed Haytham like air, the more rational side was questioning the sanity of it all.

"I'll... I'll go then." Shay thought aloud, as if he needed to remind himself that the last place he wanted to be caught was standing in the hall watching Haytham leave with a sad, forlorn look in his eyes.

Shay lost track of time as he wandered aimlessly through the busy streets of Greenwich, stopping sometimes to admire the view of the ocean from the docks. It felt strange to be able to go where he pleased, without having to worry about a job that needed doing. Well, technically he didn't have any work aside from the precursor box. He'd dried up all the leads they had. The only hope was for the Assassins to make a slip-up somewhere along the line. It was bound to happen eventually. Still, it could take years – decades even.

It had only taken a few moments to give one of his fleet captains the orders to capture a new Man o' War. Shay sighed in disgust and leaned against a worn wooden fence blocking off the front of an empty building as he watched a group of children playing hopscotch in the dusty street. He'd like to say he longed for those days of innocence, but he'd never really had them. He was a sailor born and bred. There was salt water in his blood, and conflict followed him around like a black cloud spewing death and misfortune. He didn't really make his own luck, he just left nothing to chance. In Shay's mind, preparation was everything. If you took precautions, and had a plan for every possible outcome, then everything always would go your way in the end. Well, mostly. Human error did tend to throw a wrench in several of his plans over the years. Somehow, things still always worked out in the end. He was quick to adapt, not lucky.

It was nearing nightfall, and the setting sun painted the sky with vibrant colors that cast its reflection on the ocean. Shay admired the view for a moment from where he sat on top of a large shipping crate on the docks, and thought to himself that it was probably best to head home for the night. If he stayed away too long, the others (meaning Haytham) might think he was avoiding them again. ...Or he could go find a tavern and play cards until dawn. No one would complain about him robbing a bunch of drunks blind if he put the money toward new guns and a spare set of sails for the _Morrigan._ He hadn't slept in days anyway.

"It is a lovely sunset, I must say." Shay bit back a slew of thoroughly uncouth swearing, and glared over his shoulder at Charles who was standing a few paces behind him. He wondered just how much of a mess he still was. It wasn't like Shay not to hear others approach him. Normally, Charles would have had a better chance of getting struck by lightening than catching Shay unawares.

"Aye, it will be fine weather for sailin' tomorrow. There's an old sayin' my father taught me as a child: 'Red sky at night, a sailor's delight. Red sky in the mornin', sailors take warnin'." Shay replied, carefully keeping the bitterness out of his voice and hoping the pointless rambling might get Charles to leave him be. "What d'you want?"

"Nothing in particular. I was heading to the printer's shop to, ah, bribe them to tastefully edit a few articles in regards to Thomas' charges." Charles explained, leaning against the wall beside Shay. "And, I suppose I should probably tell you that Master Kenway will give himself an ulcer if he thinks you have gone missing again. No offense intended, of course."

"Quit talkin' like an apothecary. If I took offense at that, than I might as well o' murdered Gist by now." Shay told him humorlessly.

"I am not jealous, either, for the record. If anything, I feel like the two of us are the only ones not acting like schoolboys lately. _Really._ You and the Grand Master... How much kill-devil did Master Gist have to drink to start spewing that idiocy?" Charles continued, folding his arms across his chest. "That being said, you should head back. At any rate, I am off. A good night to you."

Shay watched Charles leave, and tried not to wish he'd step in a pile of horse shite on his way. Charles could be a decent human being, Shay knew, as long as no one was standing in the way of his goals – whatever they may be. Still, some things are best in small doses, and Charles was definitely one of them. He was right about one thing, though. Haytham would worry, Shay knew that. With a sigh, he started back on his way to Fort Arsenal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To talk like an apothecary – BS, basically. Talking nonsense.
> 
> Kill-Devil – Rum
> 
> Shitbird – Kind of like calling someone an asshole.
> 
> Boarding School – Jail. Originally it specifically meant the Bridewell Prison.
> 
> Under hatches – Dead
> 
> Frogs – I know this is used at least once in Rogue, but just in case... Basically it was a derogatory term for the French.


	10. Don't Sleep Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was fun. And I can't help but imagine the two of them stumbling through love like it's the most confusing thing in the world. Then again, it probably is for them. Also, Haytham just likes to see people squirm, I think. Like some kind of sadistic little quirk, or something. Lmfao.

Haytham paced the length of his office like a caged animal. Had he managed to offend Shay earlier? Was that why he hadn't returned? And that, right there, was half the problem. Haytham had next to no experience to go on as far as real, adult relationships were concerned. There had only ever been Ziio. ...And that one Earl's daughter in London, but that had been one week, an utter travesty, and Haytham would be completely content to erase it from his memory. He'd torn the pages out of his journal years ago, after all. That, of course, was not to say that he was naïve or a virgin – by any means. However, truth be told, he wasn't very interested in emotional attachment. It wasn't something he really thought about, or particularly cared for. Sex, he only saw as an itch that needed to be scratched on occasion, nothing more. Irritably, Haytham glanced out the window at the darkening sky.

Shay hadn't returned yet, as far as he was aware. Haytham fought the urge to go looking for him with every last shred of self control he had. He resumed pacing the office, stopping once in a while to go over things he might have missed in his unending daily regimen of paperwork. When he heard the clock in the hall chime eleven times, still with no sign of Shay, Haytham's resolve finally snapped and he headed down the stairs. He'd drag him back to Fort Arsenal by his ankles if he had to. Really, how much it would take to get Shay to trust him? They way he kept every other human being he knew at least an arm's length was driving Haytham up a wall. He ran right into Shay as he hurried toward the door in the main hall.

"Where the bloody Hell have you been?" Haytham barked, not even thinking to apologize.

"Where are you goin'? Is somethin' wrong?" Shay asked at the same time. Both of them just stared at each other for a moment, in a horribly awkward silence. Shay was the first to speak, casting his eyes downward to the ornate Persian carpet on the floor beneath them.

"Sorry I made you worry, Sir." He said sheepishly. "I forget sometimes that normal folks aren't quite as nocturnal as I tend t'be."

"You need to get more sleep, Shay. Forcing yourself to keep going until you pass out is hardly healthy." Haytham told him, his expression softening. Haytham couldn't help but think that he'd just had a lesson on what it feels like to be a parent with a child out too late for comfort. ...Not that there was anything childish about Shay, and he was more than capable of handling any trouble that came his way.

"You know that isn't easy for me." Shay muttered somewhat uncomfortably.

"Then don't sleep alone." Haytham leaned in close and whispered in his ear. It was silly, but he didn't want to say it too loudly. The smug look on Church's face earlier had been torture, not to mention the way Gist started giggling and burst into hysterics the _second_ he managed to slink out of Haytham's office. No, he didn't need to deal with their antics when he was still trying to make sense of it on his own. ...And that was just them being a bunch of bloody immature idiots without there being any evidence to suggest that there was something real between him and Shay. But there was, and Haytham knew that he wouldn't find any answers by fighting it. At least he knew Shay hadn't asked him his opinion of such relations based on a mere coincidence. No. Shay wanted him, but had the tact (or masochism) to keep his desires to himself. If nothing else, Haytham knew how to read people, and he was sure the suggestion would be a welcome one.

"I...! Wait. _What_?!" Shay stammered, eyes wide.

"You heard me." Haytham hissed. "I am not saying it again. Your room or mine?"

"Christ..." Shay breathed, and shook his head. "Who're you, and what'd you do with Haytham?"

"Fine. Your room. _Go._ " Haytham nearly growled.

"My room." Shay nearly squeaked and hurried up the stairs without another word.

Haytham watched him go and wondered, for what he knew wouldn't be the last time, what the _bloody hell_ was wrong with him. What was this feeling in his chest that contorted like someone had driven a dagger through him, when he saw Shay struggling with his demons? And _why_ did all sense of logical thought abandon him when Shay, most likely unconsciously, gave him that look that was equal parts pleading and affectionate? Haytham just wanted to rip his hair out and claw at the walls in frustration.

Instead, he meandered to his own room. He sat at the writing desk near the window overlooking the courtyard, and pulled his journal out of the drawer in his nightstand. With a sigh, he opened it to the newest entry and dipped his pen in the inkwell. Neatly, he dated the top of the page and let the tip of the pen hover above the paper as he tried to put words to the confusing tangle of thoughts in his mind. A drop of ink dripped from the nib, leaving an unsightly blot where he'd meant to write. He heard the clock in the hall chime twelve times, and he dropped the pen on the desk in defeat. Maybe tomorrow he would be able to find the words.

Feeling strangely nervous, he gathered his nightclothes and made his way to Shay's room. As he walked the empty halls, he said a silent prayer not to run into the others. Haytham had been too young to ever sneak out of his parent's house to bed a woman, but he imagined it would feel something like this if he had. ...All apprehension and desperate hope not to be caught. Though, he doubted that was what Shay wanted at the moment.

Unsurprisingly, Haytham found Shay sitting at his own desk staring at a naval chart with a blank look on his face. He wasn't focusing on it at all; that much was obvious. He turned around immediately when Haytham strode in through the open door. Haytham pulled the door shut behind him, making sure to turn the lock, and sat on the edge of the bed nearest Shay. Wordlessly, Shay put out the flame of the single oil lamp that was sitting on the desk in front of him.

"I just want to know one thing," Shay asked quietly as he got up from the chair. "Are you doin' this just for my sake, or because you actually want to?"

Haytham scoffed and moved over so Shay could climb into the bed beside him. "A little bit of both, truth be told. It started out as a plan to try to save you from yourself because I was concerned for you, but I wandered off the proper path ages ago. I would be lying if I told you it made a lick of sense to me. If someone had told me a few months ago that I would find myself in your bed, I might have shot them. Now, well, I am trying to figure it out as I go along." He replied thoughtfully.

"But d'you _want_ this?" Shay pressed, hesitantly. Haytham sighed in annoyance, somewhat grateful that the darkness wouldn't allow Shay to see him rolling his eyes.

"Do you honestly believe I would be here right now if I did not?" Haytham told him flatly and gently Shoved him down against the bed. He went without any resistance, and allowed Haytham to press himself against his back, with his arms wrapped around his waist.

"So is that a yes?"

" _Yes._ For pity's sake, Shay, go to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning. Believe me, I am not in the mood to deal with it right now." Haytham muttered in his ear and rested his face against Shay's shoulder. Whatever Shay mumbled in response, Haytham ignored as he dragged the heavy duvet over top of them. As Shay finally relaxed against him, Haytham wondered to himself if he'd ever felt so peaceful in his life. His existence, up this point, had been one of turmoil and conflict from the beginning. Even as a child, he'd been groomed into the perfect killer. Never before had fate allowed him to simply take comfort in another's presence like this. There had been Ziio, yes, but she didn't like to be held like this. He'd never bothered to figure out why she had been so distant at the best of times. Shay, on the other hand, seemed to crave touch. ...Even if he would ask for it over his dead body.

Haytham stopped trying to rationalize it. Love (as much as he'd rather not use that word), he knew, was anything but rational.

Shay had already fallen asleep, judging by his shallow, even breathing. Either that or he'd just passed out from exhaustion; that was likely too. Regardless, he didn't seem to be having any nightmares at the moment. That, Haytham counted as yet another small victory as he too fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

When Haytham woke up the following morning, he was alone. Shay had wrapped the blankets tightly around him, but Haytham's first coherent thought was that he missed the solid warmth of Shay's presence. He yawned and rolled over, burying his face in Shay's pillow that smelled a little bit like him – like gun smoke and salt air. The morning air felt crisp against his limbs that were exposed when he moved. Winter had come at last, all that was missing was the snow that was sure to blanket the city soon.

Begrudgingly, Haytham climbed out of the bed and shivered involuntarily from the cold. He'd have to chop some wood and bring it up here to keep a fire lit in the grate at night. ...Or he could just tell Shay to do it. ...Shay. Where had he gone this time? Hopefully he hadn't had some kind of crisis and fled again. Lost in his thoughts, Haytham dressed himself and found his way to the kitchen – where he (thank God) found Shay.

He was sitting at the counter, already fully dressed, with a cup of hot tea. Charles was beside him, picking at a scone and whining about the slowly growing tension between the colonies and the British Crown. Shay seemed, for all the world, to be completely ignoring him. So it surprised Haytham a bit when he spoke up.

"I'm not one to support the British personally, but you've got to admit they have more'n enough right t'charge fair taxes from a political point o' view. _Fair_ taxes mind you, not this gougin' they're on about. The colonies belong to the Crown, after all. We're livin' on British land. Well, technically they stole it from the natives, but that's beside the point." Shay replied, taking a sip of his tea. "'Sides, can you imagine the colonists fightin' them proper? They'd only be in bad bread long enough to crawl back up to King George's feet and beg him for forgiveness when they run out o' good chatter-broth." Charles laughed heartily, and Shay gave him a genuine smile. Much to Haytham's relief, he seemed well-rested and in a better mood than he'd seen him in ages.

"Indeed, but the French may also step in to aid the rebels if it does escalate to actual conflict, especially considering that the seven years war hardly ended in their favor." Haytham added thoughtfully and poured himself a cup of tea. "Then, there is still the issue that many of the colonists _do_ side with the Crown. They are, after all, law-abiding British citizens. It will be a right nightmare if we let this get out of hand. We need to find a solution, before the tension comes to a head."

"That will take years, _if_ it happens; we have time." Charles replied.

"True. But we'd best not ignore the possibility." Haytham told him. "By the way, Charles, did you manage to get Thomas' name out of the press?"

"Yes, Sir. Though it cost a pretty penny." Charles explained glumly. "There's been whisperings about criminal activity in Manhattan. The Assassins might be involved."

"Bother," Haytham grumbled.

"What's botherin' me, is where are they gettin' the resources and men to keep pullin' these jobs?" Shay thought aloud, staring into his teacup. "I've killed off most o' their leaders, and ruined their business contacts wherever I find them. No t'mention that the fleet's been givin' them holy hell on the seas."

"Well, I had best be off. " Charles said curtly and nearly scurried out the door, his scone in one hand and half a cup of tea in the other.

"Could he be any more of a ponce?" Shay muttered darkly and shook his head. Haytham smiled to himself and took the now empty seat beside Shay.

"You know, Shay, it's terrible etiquette to leave your partner to wake up alone..." The way Shay choked on his tea and sputtered was well worth dealing with how ashamed he was about having to admit that, yes, it irritated him that Shay hadn't been there.

"Well, _Sir_ , it was that or tell Charles that you were cuddled up t'me in bed when he came bangin' on my door lookin' for you. I figured you'd rather I didn't. How you slept through that is beyond me." Shay replied tartly.

"Hm. How did _you_ sleep, by the way?" Haytham said in reply. Shay gave him that look, the one that made Haytham just want to crawl into a dark corner and pray for his sanity. It was reproachful, yet fond, and Haytham had begun to understand it as Shay's way of saying he didn't want to talk about something. ...But he would anyway, because it was Haytham and he knew he'd have to eventually.

"...I'll empty a few drawers in the dresser for you t'keep some o' your things." Shay grumbled and slunk out of the kitchen like he couldn't get away fast enough. Haytham had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In bad bread - in a disagreement or argument
> 
> Chatter-broth - tea
> 
> Yelper - a whiny little bitch, more or less


	11. Put Me Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay should add this to his resume: deadly killer and master of stealth snuggles. *giggles*

Shay held back a sneeze as a bit of hay tickled his nose. He was stiff, and more than a little cranky after spending the better part of three hours in a haystack that was conveniently located right out front of the small tavern he was watching. There was definitely something fishy about the place, but he doubted the Assassins were involved. If anything, he thought it might be the meeting place of an opium smuggling ring. Illegal, yes, but hardly worth his time. He watched as a plump man with a bushy reddish beard exited the tavern with a whore hanging off his arm. He was a right hog in armor, that one. Shay doubted he'd earned a single coin of his apparent wealth by honest means, but it wasn't his concern. Irritably, he crawled out of the hay, brushing it off of his clothes as headed for the tavern door. There was only so much he could learn by watching from the outside.

It was a rush of activity inside the tavern. In one corner a group of men were having a tiff over a card game, while a barmaid gave an unruly patron a black eye and a band of Irishmen played a fast, upbeat tune. Shay shook his head and seated himself at the bar beside a surly looking redcoat. He ordered an ale, and kept quiet as he managed to listen in on a group of men in the far corner as they spoke. He heard mentions of deadlines, inquiries about the quality of their product and a comment that the source was overcharging. Opium dealers, as he'd suspected. He dropped the payment for his drink on the counter and left.

Oddly enough, Shay's first thought was that he wasn't angry about wasting time – he was angry about wasting time that he could have been spending with Haytham. He stopped in his tracks and looked up at the grey, overcast sky. When had he started thinking like that? He turned his collar up against the cold wind and went on his way. He knew that chill in the air, the way it felt like ice as he inhaled. It would snow soon, probably within the hour. Just as he thought it, he saw the first snowflake float down toward the ground. Still feeling irritable, he made his way back to Fort Arsenal.

* * *

"Opium smugglers," Shay said flatly, and glared at Gist from where he sat on the opposite side of the desk in Haytham's office. "Not Assassins."

"How was I to know? All Charlie boy and I heard was one of them talking about offing a man that was an 'obstacle' to their plans." Gist grumbled, almost petulantly.

"It doesn't matter, just make damn sure next time. I don't want to wind up killin' innocent men. All right, they aren't exactly _innocent_ , but you know what I mean." Shay retorted, regretting taking out his foul mood on Gist almost immediately. He meant well, he really did, but he also had a habit of getting on Shay's nerves – as fond of him as Shay was.

"What has you on the high ropes, anyway?" Gist asked, before Shay could make a swift exit.

"D'you really need t'ask?" Shay groaned. "I spent _hours_ hidin' in a damned haystack for nothin'. I could've spent that time with Hay – The harbour master. The _Morrigan_ still needs a few repairs after takin' down the _Aquila_."

" _Sure._ The _Morrigan_." Gist replied, obviously holding back laughter. Shay knew it was too late the second the first syllable escaped from his lips. "Well, did you kiss him yet?" Gist inquired for the umpteenth time, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

"If I say yes, you're goin' to start askin' me if I fucked him yet, aren't you?" Shay said in reply, cracking a smile in spite of himself.

"Ha! Probably." Gist told him with a shrug. "Well did you? Kiss him, I mean. I Have to keep the _Morrigan_ 's crew updated, after all..."

"No." Shay said truthfully, and rolled his eyes – trying not to think of how much he wished he _had_. "What do you all think is so damned funny about the two o' us together, though? Not that we are, you idiot."

"It's not that, it's the way you're both acting like a pair of lovestruck virgins who don't know their head from their arse. It's kind of cute, actually." Shay wasn't sure if he should just glare at him in disgust or burst into laughter. Because, yes, he could see where they were coming from with that. Either way, it didn't stop him from slinking out of the room like a beaten dog. If they'd noticed that much, he and Haytham were both done for.

Speaking of Haytham, he found him in the spare room on the ground floor that was slowly turning into a library of sorts. He was seated at the long wooden table in the center of the room, with a pile of books stacked on the table beside him. Shay silently sat next him.

"Still on about that thing?" He asked, watching Haytham absently twirl the precursor medallion in his fingers. He didn't really know the story behind the artifact, just that it was the sole reason that he had been sent to the colonies. Setting up a proper foothold for the Templars, Haytham had told him, hadn't been the priority at the time.

"It keeps me occupied." He replied, dropping it onto the table and turning to face Shay. "Were the Assassins involved?"

"Opium smugglers," Shay grumbled and shook his head. "Bloody waste o' time if you ask me, Sir."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Shay felt like a kid in church, forced to sit still when his body screamed at him to run a muck like a little demon. All he wanted was to just lean over and press himself against Haytham, but he wasn't sure how he'd react. He was relatively certain that Haytham wasn't exactly a cuddler. If anything, he was probably like a cat – warm and snuggly when he wanted to be, and the very definition of wrath if he wasn't being shown affection on his terms. So, needless to say, it nearly put Shay in a state of shock when Haytham shut his book and slid his hand under the table, lacing his fingers through Shay's.

"I was going to ask how long we could keep avoiding this conversation, but it seems like we do not really need to talk about it." Haytham said, giving Shay a sideways glance.

"I'm just tryin' to figure out how it happened." Shay admitted, casting caution to the winds and leaning against Haytham. He made no sign of resistance as Shay let his head rest on his shoulder. Shay's eyes fluttered closed as he tried to permanently burn the moment into his memory.

"I'm less concerned with how, and wondering why. It is not like me. Yet I..." Haytham's voice trailed off, and Shay felt him sigh more than he heard it. "I have never felt like this. It is confusing, truth be told."

"But it feels right?" Shay asked, not daring to open his eyes. He didn't want to move away from Haytham's warmth.

"Yes," He said quietly, and gave Shay's hand a gentle squeeze. For the first time in years, Shay felt like everything might be right with the world. Haytham had been a shoulder to lean on when he was falling to pieces, and he hadn't given up on him when he needed it the most. He was a trusted friend and confidant, but more than that now. He was someone Shay could count on to pull him back from the edge, to at least try and fix the broken parts even when he couldn't do it himself.

"Shay?"

"Hmm?"

"You do realize any of the others could walk in on us like this, right?" Haytham said, stating the obvious yet unspoken reality of the situation.

"Bother." Shay grumbled, grudgingly pulling away from Haytham. "You know, they've noticed."

"Obviously," Haytham replied in an uncharacteristically defeated tone. "I wonder how they would take it, if it became reality for them and not just something to jest about."

"For what it matters, I doubt it would make a difference for Gist, Weeks or Thomas. I can't speak for the others." Shay replied, staring vacantly at Haytham's piece of Eden that was still resting on the tabletop.

"The only one that might actually give us trouble is Church. But he and I have never seen eye to eye. He's a selfish bastard, mark my words. Thank mercy he's leaving for Boston tomorrow." Haytham said tartly. "At any rate, I have some work to catch up on. I will see you tonight." Haytham added fondly, and gave Shay a light pat on the shoulder as he left the library.

* * *

Later that night, Shay lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the fire crackling in the grate. It was near midnight, he guessed. Haytham hadn't come to bed yet, and he started wondering if he had changed his mind. Shay rolled over onto his side, and watched as the flames slowly consumed the large log he'd dropped in the middle of the hearth. Time seemed to have skidded to a halt as he waited for Haytham to come. Finally, he heaved a sigh and buried his face in the pillow, resigning himself to sleeping alone for the night.

He dreamed of Liam. They were camping out on the homestead in the fall, like they always did when the weather was nice. Liam was laughing at something he'd said, and Shay flopped back onto the ground to look up at the stars. Liam laid down beside him, and whispered 'I love you, idiot' in Shay's ear. Shay turned to him, intent on taking him in a kiss, only to find the ground covered in snow and an empty place where Liam should be.

But it wasn't the homestead anymore. It was ice that he was laying on, not snow. His body ached everywhere, like he'd been run over by a horse and kicked in the gutter. He tasted blood in his mouth, and knew there was at least one bullet in his shoulder. Liam was there, he knew. Just on the other side. Shay steeled himself, knowing what was waiting. And there he was, broken and bleeding. He stared up at Shay pleadingly, and Shay wished to God he could do something – _anything_ to save him.

"No!" Shay screamed as the light went out in his eyes, and the world started to fall to pieces around him. Now he was a boy, at sea with his father. He clung to the ship's railing for dear life as the waves relentlessly tossed the ship about like a toy. Shay was chilled to the bone; his clothes hung about him like limp rags saturated from the driving rain. The deck was a flurry of activity as the men scrambled to obey his father's orders, some of them being swept clean off the rigging by the wind and the occasional rogue wave. How his father kept the ship afloat, Shay would never know. It was just as the storm was at it's worst that a sound like the wrath of God himself came from the sky and a flash of lightening caught the foremast. Shay closed his eyes, trying to black out the screams and the horror on on his father's face as the force of the impact threw him flying backward, down into ocean's embrace.

"No!" Shay cried, coming awake with a violent jerk. He probably would have rolled right off the edge of the bed, if not for the weight of a strong pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Panting, and hopelessly trying to reign in the panic, he extricated himself from Haytham and sat up on the edge of the bed. He didn't usually dream of his father's death. Not since he was a young man when the tragedy was fresh in his mind. Frankly, the nightmare was no less harrowing than it had been all those years ago. He fought back tears and struggled to breathe. It wouldn't do to wake Haytham, who had apparently come after all. He must have gotten caught up working on something.

"Shay?" So much for that, then. Shay just shook his head, and hid his face in hands. At least it was still dark, he figured. Haytham wouldn't have to see him trembling like a child. ...Or not. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't for Haytham to gather him up in his arms and hold him close. Shay clung to him, to the warmth and safety of his presence. Vacantly, Shay wondered if he was just too broken to ever be fixed - if a soul drenched in so much death was worthy of redemption. ...If he was even worthy of Haytham's concern, never mind his affection. He didn't deserve to be loved. He was a murderer, nothing more. And with that thought, he just fell apart and he couldn't even try to grab at the pieces of his fragile spirit as it shattered into a million broken shards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hog in armor – A well-dressed lout
> 
> To be on high ropes – To be angry/irritable


	12. Did you Kiss Him Yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Shay's father's ship was ever mentioned by name nor could I find it, so I made one up. Correct me if I'm wrong. Also, what do I have to do to get some reviews up in here? I promise there's gonna more smut than you can shake a stick at soon.

The only thought in Haytham's mind when he'd dragged Shay into his arms in a half-awake daze, was that he had to protect him. From what, he didn't know. As the realization hit him that the ex-Assassin was just having a nightmare, Haytham relaxed and let Shay hold onto him for dear life. Oddly, it didn't bother him. He just held him close and spoke to him quietly as he dissolved into a (silently) sobbing mess in his arms. Haytham didn't dare ask what he'd dreamed of. Maybe he'd risk it in the morning, after a cup of tea and a good breakfast. Not now. It wasn't until he was fully awake that Haytham realized that for the first time in his life, he _was_ capable of comforting another human being. This gentleness, it wasn't something he thought himself able to do. Yet, apparently it was instinct like anything else.

"Shh, do you want Charles to come running? No doubt explaining this will be unpleasant." Haytham chided Shay softly, as he choked on a sob. After what felt like hours, Shay finally relaxed. ...Or just ran out of the energy to keep carrying on like a broken thing. He still clung to Haytham, though, with his face buried in his hair and his fingers twisted into the silky fabric of his shirt.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Haytham asked, carding his fingers through Shay's hair. He felt the faintest shake of his head, and didn't press the issue. "That is fine. All in good time." Haytham reassured him. And really, it would be alright. Shay wasn't hiding anymore, and nothing anyone said could possibly convince Haytham that there was a single thing _wrong_ about how it felt to hold him close. Still, sex had never really been something he thought of much, or especially cared for unless he was in the mood for it. Maybe he had just been looking in the wrong places. Haytham shook his head, dashing the thoughts from his mind. It was hardly appropriate, given the current situation.

"'M sorry." Shay mumbled quietly, and pulled away from Haytham enough to right himself before resting his head back on his shoulder. Haytham just placed his hand in the small of Shay's back and let him take the physical contact he so obviously craved. Not that it bothered Haytham, quite the opposite really. It felt... Right.

"No need to apologize." Haytham reassured him. "You should get some rest. I'm here with you now."

Shay didn't reply. He let Haytham pull him back down to the bed, and curled up against him, with his head resting on Haytham's chest. He absently twisted his fingers into a few locks of Shay's hair, and wondered for the millionth time how in God's name he'd wound up in bed with a man – and why he'd shoot anyone who dared to try and take Shay from him.

* * *

Haytham didn't wake up alone this time. Shay was sprawled across the bed, with his head on Haytham's shoulder and most of the blankets wrapped around him. Haytham figured it was probably the cold that woke him. ...So there was yet another bit of proper etiquette he'd have to try to get through Shay's thick skull: Don't hog the bed, _and_ all the blankets. He rolled over and wriggled under the edge of them, closer to Shay who was fast asleep – peacefully this time, thank God. He was, of course, a very light sleeper and woke the very instant Haytham moved.

"Mornin'." He mumbled and went to sit up, but Haytham caught him by the shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was curiosity that drove him to it mostly. How did it feel to kiss a man? Honestly, not that different from kissing a woman aside from the rough touch of Shay's stubble. But it _was_ different and Haytham decided that he could easily get used to this.

"Aren't you feisty this mornin'. I never would've thought you'd be such a draggle-tail." Shay said, chuckling under his breath.

"Watch you mouth." Haytham chastised him without the slightest hint of venom. Shay just laughed and ruffled Haytham's hair.

"My father must be rollin' in his grave," Shay whined. "I'm consortin' with a bloody Englishman."

"'Consorting', is it?" Haytham replied, rolling his eyes.

"Aye, and now I'll blush like a little girl the next time Gist asks me if I kissed you yet."

"That was _hardly_ a proper kiss."

Shay stared at him in silence for a moment. "Then let's have a 'proper' one, shall we?"

It wasn't a question but a statement, Haytham realized at the exact moment that Shay managed to roll himself on top of him, pressing their bodies flush together. He gasped as Shay tangled his fingers in his hair and took him in a deep, fierce kiss. This, Haytham decided, is _not_ like kissing a woman. It was almost feral, like a silent fight for dominance as he gave back as good as he got. The intensity of it made his head spin. It was only the rather annoying need for air that made them part, panting for breath.

" _Damn,_ " Haytham whispered, mostly to himself.

"Aye," Shay said, clearly in a daze.

Both of them startled slightly at the sound of a sharp knock on the locked bedroom door. Haytham fought the urge to kick something. The Templars under his charge were mostly good men, but they had _impeccable_ timing.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Shay groaned and Haytham stifled a derisive snort of laughter. "What the hell d'you want, Charles? I need my beauty sleep."

"Have you seen Master Kenway? We were supposed to be in a meeting with the captain of the guard an hour ago." Charles asked. Haytham bit his tongue until it bled, wondering what time it even was. He'd completely forgotten about the meeting. Which, to say anything of it, was _completely_ out of character.

"Not since yesterday," Shay snapped. "I'll go look for him in a bit. He's a big boy. I'm sure he can take care o' himself just fine."

"Very well then. I shall leave him in your capable hands." Charles replied irately. They listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps until they were no longer audible before Haytham finally spoke.

"Your 'capable hands', hmm?" Shay rolled his eyes, not moving in the slightest from his position above Haytham.

"I think we both know who's wearin' the pants in this, and it e'nt me." Shay told him, with a smirk.

"Damn right," Haytham responded and pulled him down into another, softer kiss. Shay went without any resistance and melted into the contact. For a while they just lay in bed, trading ideas of how to explain Haytham's absence and pondering ways to keep their fledgling relationship a secret from the others. It was the most relaxing morning Haytham had ever had.

"I dreamed o' the day my father died, in a storm at sea." Shay said, completely out of the blue. "I haven't even thought o' him in years. But I was a barely a man then, and it scared the shite right out o' me. It doesn't help that I didn't even have a place t'live when I made it back to New York in the broken husk of the _Brigid_. Go on, then. You'd best find Charles before he starts thinkin' I absconded with your innocence."

"Innocence? _Please_. But, you have a fair point." Haytham conceded. "Still, are you... Will you be all right now?" Shay gave him a sideways glance but didn't reply. Haytham heaved a sigh and shoved himself upright enough to place a soft kiss on Shay's cheek, against the scar just below his eye.

"I don't know," Shay said quietly.

"What else are you not telling me, Shay?" Haytham inquired, wondering whether or it not was wise to press the issue. It was difficult to tell. Sometimes, Shay would give in. Other days, he'd lash out like a cornered bear and Haytham wouldn't get a straight answer to save his life. Maybe he'll be a little better now, Haytham thought. After all, there was significantly more trust between them now.

"I... Nothing." Shay mumbled, and hauled himself out of the bed. So, it would be the latter. Haytham fought the urge to shove him up the wall and demand an answer because he damn well said to. ...Though, that wouldn't do any good. He didn't want to push Shay too far – not when he knew the man could be borderline suicidal in such a vulnerable state of mind.

"Will you tell me eventually?" Haytham asked as Shay pulled on his clothes with his back facing him.

"...Maybe." Shay mumbled, sounding strangely sad. "I'm goin' to go for a walk, maybe see if any o' Thomas' boys have heard anythin'."

"As you wish. You know where to find me." Haytham said, barely keeping the disappointment out of his voice as Shay gave him a stiff nod and slunk out of the room. Who was he kidding, anyway? Why did he think he had it in him to function as another human being's moral support, when he barely was able to hold his own shite together on a good day? Haytham felt like stabbing something. ...Almost as much as he felt like breaking down and crying liking a spurned woman – not that he would _ever_ be caught dead in such a state. Regardless, the last thing he wanted to deal with was Charles and his boot-licking. Miserably, he dragged himself out of bed and threw his clothes on without bothering to go through his morning routine of making sure he looked immaculate. His collar was crooked and his hair was ruffled, but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

Avoiding Charles was painfully easy – a few well-timed steps around corners and a quick dash past his office that the Templar in question was occupying was all it took to escape Fort Arsenal unnoticed. Haytham wandered the streets of Greenwich aimlessly, stopping only to pay a merchant for an apple for some means of sustenance. The only thing in his mind was Shay and the distinct, yet irrational fear that he had failed him somehow. Haytham sat down on a bench near the docks and twirled the apple idly in his hands. He'd never find Shay, not when he didn't want to be found. Maybe it was best to let him have some space anyway. He'd come around eventually. ...Or he'd throw himself off the roof of the church. Haytham shook his head, trying to dash the thoughts from his mind. The mere notion of losing Shay terrified him. He doubted he'd survive it.

"'Ey? Spare a coin, friend?" Haytham glared daggers at the beggar who'd probably been pestering him for far longer than he'd actually noticed.

"Find yourself a job." He growled and got up from the bench, his uncertainties quickly turning into anger. Without even looking, he threw a few silver coins over his shoulder that the thin man in threadbare clothes scrambled to catch while spewing a slew of thanks, which of course, Haytham completely ignored. He broke into a run, launching himself up the wall of a general store and vaulting across the distance to the neighboring roof. The feel of the wind as he tore across the rooftops was refreshing; it had been a while since he'd actually worked in the field. A little ways across across town, he came to a tall boarding house and scaled the wall with ease. On the roof, Haytham settled himself into a sitting position, his back resting against a worn brick chimney. Unconsciously, he pulled his cape around his shoulders to block out some of the cold winter air and looked out over the rooftops.

"I can't deal with this nonsense anymore..." He mumbled to himself. "Must nothing ever be easy?"

"My father always told me that nothin' worth havin' was ever easy t'come by." Haytham nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Shay's voice behind him. Curiously, he peeked around the other side of the chimney to see Shay seated in a similar position. "Really, though. Can't you find your own roof to sulk on? This one's full."

Haytham smiled faintly in spite of himself. "You will have to duel me for it," He said jokingly.

"Not today. What's gotten you lookin' so chaf'd?" Shay asked, glancing over his shoulder. "It en't me is it? I'm not about to take any swan dives, unless it's into a pile o' hay. Don't worry so much."

"It's hard not to, you must have driven your father sick with worry as a child." Haytham commented with a scoff.

"I'm sorry it's just... I've been thinkin' lately... I don't deserve any o' this." Shay replied.

"No, Shay, you do not. But this sort of talk is not like you. You are usually ranting about making your own luck and telling fate to bite your arse." Haytham retorted cynically.

"No, not that. I meant that I... I don't deserve you." Shay clarified in a broken tone.

"Oh," Haytham said dumbly, not sure how to respond. His heart told him to vehemently deny the statement for all he was worth, to tell Shay that he was more than worthy. Yet... A sneaky little voice in the back of his mind disagreed. Shay was right, he didn't deserve him. He deserved _better_. Haytham could never be what he needed. It was delusional at best to have thought that he could have been. ...But how he _wanted_ to be everything to Shay.

Shay was the one to break the silence, albeit hesitantly. "I'm a monster."

"And I am the queen of England." Haytham snapped, without thinking. "You are a lot of things Shay, but not a monster. Would a monster be haunted by his mistakes? No, I think not."

"But that doesn't change the things I've done." Shay replied wearily.

"No, but do you honestly believe my hands are any cleaner? Wallowing in pointless guilt does not serve any man well. We cannot change the past; we can only move forward." Haytham told him quietly. Keep moving forward, he thought, can I even manage that? Sometimes, he had to wonder.

"You've the right o' it, but it sounds easier than it is." Shay said, gazing out over the rooftops. There was a little orange tom cat sleeping on the neighboring one, without a care in the world.

"Of course it is easy," Haytham muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "That is why we are having this conversation in the first place. We should head back. There is some work to be done." Shay followed without a word. Haytham thought he reminded him of a dog sometimes, what with his unquestionable loyalty and quickness to follow commands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draggle-tail – a really nasty, dirty whore
> 
> Chaf'd – Beaten down


	13. A Fool's Errand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this completely unrelated buuut. Chevalier is basically the biggest douchenugget ever. He makes a comment about the Morrigan being the "silly fairy queen that ruined Merlin the wise". That was Nimue, actually and she wasn't a fairy queen. Morgan Le Fay also was NOT the Morrigan if that was what it was referencing. (Though she may be a little inspired by her) ...Then he tells Shay to "read a book" because he didn't know who Jack Rackham was. Dude, you're such a Hypocrite. Lmfao.
> 
> And on more a relevant note, I realize that in order to not completely trash the timeline, I should probably let you guys know that this is taking place around the early 1760's. So, after when Haytham saved Jenny and they killed Birch, but before he knows that Connor exists.

As the days went by, Haytham and Shay fell into an oddly domestic routine of sorts. Shay still found himself pleasantly surprised to wake up each morning next to Haytham. It wasn't that he expected him to change his mind, rather he was terrified to take his presence for granted. Luckily, he'd mostly managed to avoid Gist and Charles. He didn't really want to deal with their antics, and it became clear that Haytham had next to no patience for it either. Shay had actually seen the man dodge behind a corner to avoid Charles one morning. It had taken every shred of self-control Shay possessed to keep himself from bursting out into laughter. ...Which meant he'd been left to try to lie to Charles about Haytham's whereabouts. Charles hadn't bought it for a second.

The lull in Shay's normal line of work also found him helping the Order in other ways – mostly clerical work and managing the finances. ...It was boring, tediously so. Spending his days pouring over Haytham's ledgers while he and Charles tried to dig their way into the loyalists' good graces was incredibly dull. So dull, in fact, that he often found himself staring vacantly out of the window in Haytham's office counting the minutes until he returned for the night. Then, it was tolerable. Laying in bed together, listening to the slightly older man gripe about how arrogant the colonists were, never ceased to amuse Shay. Haytham rarely complained about anything, but it was painfully obvious that he wasn't any more interested in his duties than Shay was.

"I can't do this anymore; I'm bored out o' my mind." Shay finally said one afternoon, when Haytham reappeared at Fort Arsenal a little early. Haytham heaved an irritated sigh and seated himself in the chair across from Shay. Shay watched him with a frown, wondering to himself how it was that every little movement that Haytham made had a sort of fluid grace to it. Every step was surefooted and very rarely, usually only when speaking to Shay about the relationship they shared, did he stumble over his words. ...Shay doubted he'd ever _actually_ stumble unless the ground itself shattered beneath him.

"I agree wholeheartedly. I have half a mind to leave this trifling nonsense to Charles, and see about tracking down more precursor sites." Haytham replied with a bitter note in his tone. "Is there anyone else here?" He added as an afterthought.

"No. Gist won't be back 'til later. Last I heard o' him, he was down at the tavern gettin' properly sauced." Shay replied, wondering what Haytham was planning. Either way, Church and Thomas weren't even in the equation – both of them had left for Boston over a week ago.

"Hmm. Is that so... Well, Charles will be occupied until well into the evening." Haytham told Shay, and got up from the chair. He placed his hands on the edge of desk in front of him and leaned in close to Shay. "So it is just the two of us. Perhaps we should make good use of the privacy." He said in a suggestive tone, barely above a whisper.

"What d'you have in mind, Sir?" Shay asked coyly, giving him a crooked smile.

"I think you know." Haytham said flatly. "Well, I would like to say that, but..."

"We have work t'do, don't we?" Shay groaned, barely managing to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Can't it wait?"

"No, it cannot." Haytham replied, but something about the way he said it seemed off. It was relatively obvious that he was hiding something, but there wasn't much Shay could do about it. If he knew anything about Haytham, it was that he would open up about whatever it was eventually and that there was no point at all in trying to make him talk. ...Because he wouldn't. In the meantime, Shay had work to do.

* * *

Shay tailed the courier through the winding streets of Manhattan, growing more and more irritated by the minute. The man was deliberately taking a seemingly random path to throw him off his trail, but Shay was better than he was. Still, he hoped Haytham was right about the nondescript brown paper wrapped package he had tucked under his arm. If his sources had their information straight, that parcel might lead them straight to the precursor box. With a grunt of annoyance, Shay flattened himself against the cold, damp bricks of the wall he was behind as the courier stopped to make sure he wasn't being followed. Shay was well aware that he was leading him in a pointless circle, hoping he'd either give up or lose his trail. Whoever the recipient of the package was, the courier was going well out of his way to keep their identity a secret.

Finally, the courier veered down a different street. Shay silently followed, grateful for the cover of darkness that might make the idiot think he wasn't being followed anymore. Which luckily seemed to be the case. Shay kept close at heels as the courier darted from alley to alley, steadily heading toward the waterfront. He didn't dare take to the rooftops, the man was cautious and might see or hear him from above. Instead, he used the shadows to his advantage, skulking through the narrow streets close behind.

Well after midnight, they finally arrived at a seemingly abandoned warehouse not far from where Hope's gang had been manufacturing their poisons. Shay remained hidden behind a cart full of reeking, moldy hay. There was no way in hell was he jumping into that one. The courier checked over his shoulder one last time before vanishing into the warehouse. Shay followed, slipping through the door behind him without a sound and whipping himself behind a pile of empty, decaying wooden crates. The air in the place smelled of rot, and grass peeked through the floorboards in places. Obviously, no one had used this building in years.

The courier walked to the middle of the room where there was a small wooden table that was no less decrepit than the rest of the warehouse. He sat the package down there, and picked up a little silver bell which he rang three times. Shay bit his tongue until it bled to keep from swearing when he saw who walked in from what was likely an office of sorts on the other side of the main storage area. Shay watched in disbelief as none other than Christopher Gist placed a few gold coins into the courier's outstretched hand. The second the courier vanished out of the door, Shay leaped from his hiding spot.

"What is the meanin' o' this, Gist? Workin' with the damned Assassins? I thought you were better'n that!" Shay shouted, backing him into a corner.

"If you would just let me explain-"

"You had best start talkin' and fast!" Shay growled, grabbing the small parcel and ripping the paper covering off.

"Actually, ask Master Kenway. He tasked me to keep you distracted as long as I could. This was his idea." Gist replied sheepishly. "That is just bread by the way, from the bakery by Fort Arsenal." Shay ignored him, he knew Gist well enough to know that he was just chattering pointlessly as a defense mechanism. It was indeed a simple, freshly baked loaf of bread. Shay sat it back down in disgust.

"Why did he want you to distract me?" Shay demanded, not sure if he should be angry or worried.

"I have no idea, but I am not about to ask questions when the Grand Master gives me a direct order." Gist told him, frowning. "...Maybe I should have, though."

"You don't say." Shay grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the warehouse doors. Without another word, he headed back to Fort Arsenal with Gist grudgingly in tow. To make matters worse, it had started to rain and both men were drenched within minutes. It was the sort of downpour that soaks you to the bones and doesn't seem like it'll let up for days. Worst of all, was the wintery chill in the air that made it utterly unbearable.

"I can't believe Haytham sent me for a horse ladder." Shay whined, shaking water from his hair like a dog and side-stepping a would-be pickpocket.

Gist shivered and glumly tried to wring water out of his overcoat. "If you ask me, something seems to be troubling him. When you spend as much as time as I do playing cards, you get damn good at reading people."

Shay mulled over Gist's words, trying to work it out in his mind. What would possibly worry Haytham enough that the others would see past his facade? Haytham was nothing if not an expert at hiding his true emotions. But then, Shay thought to himself, it takes one to know one. He kicked an empty liquor bottle out of his way, watching how it splashed through a muddy puddle. The real question wasn't one of what was bothering Haytham, but of what would make him feel that he needed Shay out of the way. Was he afraid he'd be caught in the crossfire of some grand scheme? Was there an Assassin on Shay's trail, maybe? There were a million and one possibilities and Shay knew the only answers he'd get would be from Haytham himself. Unless it was something less practical... He grabbed Gist by the arm and shoved him through the door of a tavern they'd nearly passed by.

"I need your help," Shay said flatly and prodded Gist in the direction of a table in the far corner of the busy little place that was about as private as they'd get. Gist muttered something indignantly and sat in one of the warped wooden chairs. Shay took the one in the corner and silently prayed the staff wouldn't be angry at them for dripping water everywhere. "Two ales," Shay snapped as the barmaid came over to them, before Gist had a chance to open his mouth. She gave him a dirty look and turned around.

"What's this about then?" Gist asked, dropping his hat on the empty chair beside him.

"Haytham... I..." Shay faltered, just as the barmaid returned and delivered their ales. When she left, Gist gave him a knowing glance and Shay just wished he could evaporate on the spot. But he had to have this conversation. If his hunch was right, and they usually were, he was going to need help. ...And Gist was far preferable to Charles.

"How much do you know about Haytham's past?" Shay asked, gathering his wits.

"Not that much, except that his father was a pirate and an Assassin." Gist replied, sipping his ale.

"I meant a little more recently, like d'you know anything about Ziio?"

Gist choked on his ale and laughed heartily. "Is this jealousy I sense?"

"Just answer the question. Why'd he leave her?" Shay growled, already regretting his decision to ask for help.

"He didn't. She left him – something about him not making sure Braddock was dead on the spot. I'm sure there was more to it, though. There always is. Haytham never said, and frankly it's hardly any of our business, so we never asked." Gist replied, thoughtfully. "Why do you ask?"

"Listen, Gist, I need your help. I'd rather not ask, believe me, but it's either you or Charles. ...And I'd rather shoot myself than have this talk with Charles." Shay explained, staring down into his tankard like it held the meaning of life just out of his reach. "The boys on board the _Morrigan_ are a bunch o' bird-wits, but they have the right o' it – about Haytham and I, I mean."

"I _knew_ it," Gist said, grinning like an idiot. "...But why do you need my assistance?"

Shay hesitated for a moment, hoping he was reading the signs right. "I don't think either o' us has any idea how t'make a relationship function, and Haytham's tryin' t'find some way to stop it before he winds up pushin' me away like he did Ziio." Gist covered his mouth with his hand, in a painfully obvious attempt to stifle laughter. Shay kicked him hard in the shin.

"Sorry, it is not funny. I mean, it _is_ , but I shouldn't be laughing at you." Gist replied, composing himself. "Also, you are probably right. But how do you think I am going to be of any assistance?"

"Because I have no bloody idea what t'do about it and no one else to ask!" Shay groaned.

"Shay, you are fretting over completely trivial things. You're not a woman, but you sure can act like one. Both of you do, actually." Gist said resolutely. "Put your big boy trousers on and have a chat with him about it. You want to know what makes relationships work? Trust, and no small amount of communication. If you want to make it work, you need to _talk_ about it – and not with me."

"This is goin' to end badly, en't it?" Shay mumbled.

"Maybe. Or it will end in a good romp. That depends on how you handle it, I suppose." Gist said and downed the rest of his ale. Shay hadn't even touched his. "Well, sitting here feeling sorry yourself is not going to fix it, now is it?"

Shay gave him an utterly fake smile and got to his feet. "You're a pain in my arse. ...But thank you; you're right. I hope."

"So, did you kiss him yet or not?" Gist asked as they stepped back into the rain.

"Aye, a while ago." Shay said somewhat sheepishly and Gist chuckled knowingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sauced – Drunk, but it can also mean a sexually transmitted disease. Like, 'he got the sauce'. Depends on context, I guess?
> 
> To send for a horse ladder – Going on a fool's errand
> 
> bird-witted – idiot


	14. Trivial Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL the feels. Ick.
> 
> Oh, and just a friendly warning that there is sexual content in this chapter! About damn time for it, too. (Also, I changed the rating from mature to explicit a while ago, just to make sure you're all aware.)

Haytham stared at the blank page in his journal, looking over his shoulder restlessly at the empty walkway visible through the open window. The guilt he felt after sending Shay away was both immediate and overwhelming, but it was necessary. He needed time alone. He needed to think. The last thing Haytham wanted was to hurt Shay, but he knew it was inevitable. He always had a way of driving away the people he cared for. It wasn't intentional, God no, but somewhere along the line he would make some seemingly trivial mistake that could never be forgiven - Like not making sure Braddock was dead with Ziio, or killing the mercenary in front of his mother, who'd never spoken to him again. ...Except to send him away with Birch. Haytham would never be able to forgive _himself_ if he made a mess of it this time. ...And that was why he never bothered with relationships, not because he considered them a waste of time as he had told Shay that day at sea, but because he found himself utterly incapable of maintaining them. So it was best he settled upon some way to end it before he entirely lost Shay.

All the time in the world wouldn't have done Haytham any good, as it turned out. Instead of trying to find rational ways of dealing with it, he struggled to overcome the nagging hope that it would be different this time. It wouldn't be. He knew that. He threw a new log onto the nearly burnt out embers in the fireplace, and tried desperately not to think about how he'd probably never sleep again. All those times Haytham had harped on Shay for his lack of sleep had been hypocritical at best. While he wasn't actively terrified by nightmares, he was constantly plagued with insomnia so severe it should be considered a clinical illness. A bit of movement caught Haytham's eye and he looked out the window again.

He could see two figures with their heads stooped against the downpour making their way up the walkway. Shay and Gist, no doubt. He should have known better. It wouldn't have taken Shay long to figure it out, that the lead on the precursor box was false. ...Never mind the courier. Shay was entirely too diligent to give up following him, or let him shake him off of his tail. But even knowing this, Haytham had gone ahead with the idea because it would buy him some time. Not a lot, mind you, but enough. ...It wasn't enough. It could _never_ have been enough.

Shay didn't even knock when he shoved open the door of Haytham's office. He didn't expect him to, really. Shay hadn't bothered with formalities in some time – something Gist clearly noticed if the odd look on his face was any indication. Haytham fought to urge to smile. They both looked like a pair of drowned rats, with the way their saturated clothes hung about them dripping water all over the floor.

"Explain." Shay grunted, glaring at him with an unreadable expression. Gist stepped a few paces away from him and shoved his hands under his armpits, shivering with cold. So Shay was furious, that was obvious. ...Was it already too late? Had he managed to ruin what they had before he had the chance to stop it? Probably.

"Master Gist, you may leave." Haytham said curtly, nodding his head in Gist's direction. He visibly relaxed and made a beeline for the door. Shay made no move to stop him, but did grumble something under his breath in annoyance. He closed the door behind Gist and heaved a sigh.

"Y'know Haytham, runnin' away from things you're afraid o' doesn't make them go away. I know that better'n anyone, and _you're_ the one who convinced me to face them – and gave me the stones t'do it." Shay told him firmly. "This isn't like you."

"You say that as though you know _why_ I sent you on a pointless errand." Haytham replied defensively.

Shay fixed him with a searching stare. "Aye, I think I do know."

"You could not possibly begin to understand."

"Don't think that for a second," Shay hissed and leaned across the desk. "You were the one who said nothin' would make you think any less o' me. You can't push me away. I won't let you."

"Shay - !"

Shay shook his head and cut him off mid-sentence. "This, though... You could have just said somethin' and we might've talked about it like adults! Next time, I really hope you will."

 _Next time_. Haytham nearly choked on a breath he didn't know he was holding. Could he salvage this somehow? No. He had to stop it before it got any further, before it got even harder. "Shay, perhaps this is not in our best interests." He wished he could take the words back the instant they left his mouth.

"Quit bein' a frig-pig, and just tell me. Tell me _why_." Shay demanded.

Haytham finally met Shay's eyes. "Because I always, inevitably mind you, hurt the people that I care about the most." Shay stared at him, rendered speechless for the moment. Haytham wished he'd never taken it upon himself to drag Shay out of his misery, but that wasn't right. If he hadn't, Shay might not even be alive right now. ...And he could think of nothing worse. Actually, he could – this exact situation.

"You care for me," Shay said hesitantly. "Isn't that all the more reason not to let go? After what I've lived through, what d'you honestly think you could do that would hurt me? You might make mistakes, but I know better'n to take anythin' to heart. We're both damaged goods, that's for sure, but we _know_ that. Maybe I'm not the only one that needs savin'. None o' this tripe even matters. We're actin' like a pair o' bob-tails. One day, we're goin' to remember this and laugh about it."

The silence that followed threatened to swallow Haytham whole. He couldn't think of a single valid point to argue. Shay was right. They both had more than their fair share of emotional baggage, and there was no good reason they couldn't make it work if they _both_ put forth the effort. ...Or maybe that was just the hopeful little voice in the back of his head, the one that wanted it to be different this time. Maybe it would be. He'd cock something up eventually, that was without question, but Shay understood and accepted that. Unlike Ziio, he had nearly limitless patience and Haytham didn't have to choose between Shay and the Order. ...Not that his bond with Ziio had even lasted long enough to have to make that choice; his own arrogance had made it for him.

"I suppose I owe you an apology, once which I suggest you graciously accept because I intend to fuck you senseless to make up for earlier." Haytham told him firmly, not even entirely sure where the words, or the sudden inexplicable desire to just throw Shay over the desk and have his with him, had come from.

"Didn't know you had that word in your vocabulary, Sir." Shay said with with a chuckle, and gasped as he found himself pressed flat against the wall with Haytham's body flush against his. Any comment he might have had was cut off with a fierce, hungry kiss.

"You would be surprised what filthy things go through my mind when you call me 'Sir'." Haytham whispered when their lips parted.

"Aye, and you might want to take this to the bedroom unless you fancy blowin' off the groundsils, _Sir_." Shay retorted.

"What have I told you about manners, Shay?" Haytham grumbled and released Shay from his grip. How they _did_ make it the bedroom was questionable at best. Haytham sincerely hoped Charles was still out, but he couldn't bring himself to actually care. They left a trail of clothing behind them as they went. Haytham thought some of Shay's might even be on the floor in the hall, but again, he really didn't care. Nor, he suspected, did Shay.

Shay put up a thoroughly pathetic fight for dominance when Haytham shoved him backwards against the bed, and they both fell into it with a thump. It was only when Haytham found himself above Shay, straddling his hips and pinning his hands to the bed above his head, did he hesitate long enough to realize that he had _no idea_ what he was doing.

"Bollocks," He muttered under his breath and Shay laughed quietly. Haytham only managed an indignant glare as Shay extricated himself from his grip, and rolled over on top him, pressing their hips tightly together so that their erections touched. It took Haytham a moment to realize the odd, strangled sound of pleasure he'd heard came from his own mouth.

"I guess I'll have to show you the ropes." Shay said in a whisper and placed a soft kiss on Haytham's forehead.

"What expertise I have is sadly limited to women." Haytham replied huskily as Shay leaned over and dug through the drawer of his bed stand. He did, however, have enough knowledge of the mechanics to hope to God that Shay didn't expect him to be the bottom.

"Give me your hand," Shay said, pulling the cork out of a small bottle of oil he'd found in the drawer. Haytham obeyed, still with some degree of uncertainty. "Please tell me this bit is self-explanatory." Shay muttered, pressing Haytham's oil-slicked fingers to his entrance.

"You have no idea how it tempts me to ask for a proper explanation just to see the look on your face, but yes, I think I can manage this without any further details." Haytham grumbled, slipping the first digit inside. Shay squirmed and gripped Haytham's shoulder tightly enough to bruise.

"Apparently not. _Gently_ , Haytham." Shay hissed, and relaxed.

"Apologies," Haytham said quietly and proceeded much more carefully. If nothing else, Haytham had to admit he rather enjoyed the fact that it was this simple to reduce Shay to a needy, lust-driven mess. Emotions were complicated at best. Sex on the other hand, was blessedly straightforward, albeit a bit sloppy. Though to be fair, Haytham doubted Shay expected this first time to be neat, or to last very long any more than he did. That being said, Haytham was still taken by surprise when Shay swatted his hand away and impaled himself on his cock in one fluid motion.

"Next time, we can do this your way, but I'm out o' patience." Shay grunted. Huh, so his patience _does_ have limits, Haytham thought hazily to himself and let his head fall back to the pillow as Shay began to move. As it happened, that was the last relatively conscious thought he had – other than the fact that this was very different from being with a women, in a _very_ nice way. ...And that _no way in hell_ was Shay going to get away with being the one holding the reigns, experience aside. It didn't take much effort for Haytham roll over on top of Shay and pin him to the bed. He moaned and arched his body against Haytham's as he slid back inside of him. Haytham twisted his fingers into Shay's hair and kissed him near to the point of suffocation. Shay didn't offer the slightest resistance, he just clung to Haytham and dug his nails into his back as he moved. Haytham was absolutely sure it had broken his skin, but he really didn't care. He doubted Shay even remembered his own name if the desperate sounds he made were any indication.

As expected, it wasn't going to last long. They were both entirely too wound up, and neither one of had the patience to draw it out. Haytham felt himself nearing the finish, and on pure instinct reached between them and took Shay's cock in hand. It was his undoing. Shay moaned and clung to Haytham for dear life as climax took him, the violent spasm that passed through him throwing Haytham over the edge as well. Haytham gasped, as the world seemed to fall away in that glorious moment. He blinked slowly as he came back to consciousness, and wondered how exactly he'd managed to stay upright. ...Until he registered the sensation of Shay's hands on hips, holding him in place. He relaxed and withdrew himself slowly. Shay sighed quietly and pulled him down beside him, Haytham wordlessly let him wrap his arms around him and held him close.

"...Where's my hat?" Haytham mumbled incoherently after a few moments had passed and some of his capacity for logical thought had returned.

"On that ugly Greek statue in the hall, where you left my pants." Shay answered with a huff.

"Damn it, Shay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frig-pig – a worry wart, someone who frets over every little thing
> 
> Bob-tail – a womanly man.
> 
> Cock up – Brits still use this today (not actually sure when it originated or if it's old enough to be appropriate for this. I found a bunch of different theories/origins, so whatever), but for the rest of you... Basically it means to mess something up really badly.
> 
> Blowing off the groundsils – Having sex on the floor


	15. Nothing's Ever Easy

Shay jerked awake to the sound of footsteps passing by his – _their_ – bedroom door the following morning. Remembering where he was, and recognizing the warmth pressed against him as Haytham, he settled back into his previous position. Haytham was lying on his back, deeply asleep with Shay's head resting on his chest. Contentedly, Shay decided that being tangled up in him without a scrap of clothing between them was his new favorite way to start a day. He nearly purred like a cat and nudged himself a little closer to Haytham. The movement woke Haytham who yawned loudly and stretched, Shay held onto him to keep from being dislodged.

"Good mornin', Sir I – ... _Shite_." Shay groaned as a far too vivid image of that hideous Greek statue (that his fleet had brought from a job in Europe) with his pants draped over her shoulders, and Haytham's hat covering her head came to his mind in a flash.

"Mmm? What?" Haytham asked sleepily.

"I think Aphrodite is still wearin' my pants for a shawl." Shay complained

"And my hat."

"Aye, and your hat." They made awkward eye contact for a moment and burst into helpless laughter. Shay threw on Haytham's pants, and ventured into the hallway hoping to snatch their lost articles without being caught. Only, he nearly tripped on his pants that were neatly folded on the floor next his door with Haytham's hat on top of them. Somewhat shamefully, he shuffled back into the room and tossed Haytham's hat to him. As he did, a slip of parchment fell out. Haytham read it silently while Shay shook his head and ventured into the washroom to clean up properly. If the others knew what they were up to, fine, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of him walking into the dining room looking like he'd been dragged through a trench and smelling like sex.

"Well, what's it say?" Shay finally called when Haytham still had made no comment.

"Dear Masters Kenway and Cormac... Congratulations." Haytham said flatly. "I'm relatively certain it's Charles' handwriting."

"O' course it is. Gist would've left it there so he could watch the walk o' shame and have a good laugh about it." Shay replied as he walked back into the room, struggling to tie back his hair that was an unholy mess. Haytham looked irritated just watching him, and didn't even ask permission before he grabbed Shay's hairbrush off the dresser and swatted his hands out of the way. Shay bit back a hundred and one different insults and just let Haytham brush his hair out. If he felt like a little girl when Haytham tied it back, looping his strip of red ribbon into a neat little bow instead of the simple knot he normally used, he didn't say a word.

"I'm goin' downstairs." Shay said as he pulled on his heavy leather overcoat. Haytham leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that Shay realized Haytham had used the kiss as a means to distract him from the fact that he'd straightened his collar and lapels to perfection. The manipulative bastard. It didn't give Shay any cause for concern, though. Admittedly, he kind of liked it. He just sincerely hoped Haytham didn't decide to have a go at his wardrobe and dress him up like some kind of doll. Somehow, it wasn't something he would put past him. Lost in his thoughts, Shay wandered into the dining room where he could hear Gist and Charles talking quietly. He hoped to God they wouldn't notice the slight limp in his step, or how carefully he sat in one of the vacant chairs beside Gist. To say he was bit sore after Haytham's rough handling would be an understatement – not that he was complaining. He do it again – as many times as fate would allow.

"Mornin'," Shay said stiffly and poured himself a cup of tea.

"Good morning." Charles and Gist said in unison, followed a rather awkward silence. Shay ignored them long enough to help himself to an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table, and stir a bit of honey into his tea.

"All right. Quit starin' at me like that and just ask." He snapped, giving them both a pointed glare.

"Did you fuck him yet?" Gist asked, somehow managing to keep a completely straight face just as Haytham walked in with the morning's newspaper in hand. Charles' cheeks turned ten shades of red and he stared hard at the oaken surface of the table. Haytham looked up from the paper and gave Gist a sideways glance; the _Morrigan'_ s first mate couldn't see him from where he was sitting.

"I daresay it was the other way around." Haytham finally said, and dropped the paper on the table in front of Gist. He made an odd sort of choking noise, and it was all Shay could do to stifle the mindless mirth at the face Gist made.

"Thank you for the clarification, Grand Master." Charles replied sarcastically, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Oh! This is..." Gist had a worried look on his face as he skimmed over the front page of the newspaper. "...Damn it."

"What?" Shay asked, leaning over to get a look at the offending article.

"Local businessman John King found dead," Charles read with a frown and skimmed over most of the article. "...Believed to be the work of a band of criminals based in Manhattan, however the authorities are investigating for further motives... I thought you ran the gangs out of the area, Shay. Why would this man be targeted, anyway? It says here that he was just a merchant sailor."

"I thought I got rid o' them, too." Shay replied glumly. "King was one o' the captains in the fleet; he just used the tobacco trade to cover up his real business. I suppose I'd best see what became o' his ship. The _Sussex_ handled most o' our private correspondences with the men back in Boston – safer than usin' a courier service."

"So basically the Assassins just happened upon a trove of sensitive information." Charles clarified, shaking his head.

Shay glared daggers at him, but kept his mouth shut. "Aye, probably."

"Shay, take care of this." Haytham said wearily. "I will get in contact with the authorities and see if they have found anything of use to us."

"By your orders, _Sir._ " Shay replied and slunk out of the room, looking back over his shoulder just long enough to see Haytham barely manage to stifle some manner of obscene swearing. It was a small thing, but knowing how Haytham reacted to being called 'Sir' by him amused Shay to no end. He'd pay for it later, he knew that, oh but it was worth it.

* * *

Slipping past the guards on the docks had been no mean feat. They had the area on lock-down as they went about their investigation. King hadn't been the only victim; almost the entire crew of the _Sussex_ had been slaughtered. Shay slunk along the lower dock, just out of sight of a passing group of redcoats. There were two bodies near him, deckhands by the look of it.

"The cold cook'll busy today..." He mumbled to himself, slipping past a pair of guards fighting over a bottle of ale. Getting up on deck of the schooner unseen was impossible. He needed a proper plan. Just as he thought it, he saw a single redcoat leave the area and enter a small alley. Silently, Shay followed. Just as the guardsman was about to relieve himself into a haystack, Shay knocked him out cold with the butt of his rifle. Next, he stripped the poor sod of his clothes before tying him up and gagging him. Shay quickly dressed himself in the British uniform and stowed his own clothes behind a pile of crates at the entrance to the alley. He tried not to fuss with the coat that didn't quite fit his broad shoulders. Haytham would probably have a canary over how untidy it looked, but Shay only needed to slip on board the _Sussex_ long enough to either retrieve the Templars' documents, or confirm that they had indeed been taken.

The guards paid him no mind as passed by them, carrying the unconscious man's musket fitted with a bayonet over his shoulder. One of them near the _Sussex_ gave him an odd look, so Shay quickly fell into step with three other redcoats that were patrolling the area. Out of sight of the others, he casually strode to the docks and up onto the deck of the schooner. Looking over his shoulder to make certain he wasn't being watched, Shay slipped into the captain's cabin. It was in disarray. There were all manner of objects strewn about the room as they were obviously cast aside during a search for the true prize. It had definitely been the gangs; the Assassins wouldn't be this sloppy. He knelt behind the desk that had been pushed slightly out of position and lifted what he knew was a false set of floorboards that hid a secret compartment where the Templar correspondences were kept. It was empty.

"Damn it," Shay swore and replaced the covering. Irritably, he left the cabin and wondered where to begin his search. Reclaiming the letters was a priority, not an option. Hunting down the criminals could be troublesome, though. ...However, not as troublesome as the three guards waiting outside of the cabin for him with their guns aimed for the door.

"Halt!" One of them commanded, and Shay obediently threw his hands up in the air. "You are disturbing a crime scene, Sir!"

"I was just lookin' for the captain o' the guard." Shay replied disarmingly. Two of the soldiers shared a glance and nodded.

"You are under arrest!" The one who was obviously in charge demanded.

"I don't have time for this anymore, Can't nothin' ever be easy?" Shay growled, and tackled two of them to the ground before they had the chance to fire. The one to his left, though, was obviously made of sterner stuff as he managed to react faster than Shay, and fired a shot right into his shoulder. Shay would probably look back on that moment and be more than a little proud of himself for not even staggering as he rounded on the man and kicked him in the gut, using the momentum as leverage to dive over the side of the _Sussex. ..._ Which may or may not have been a novel idea in itself as swimming proved to be quite a struggle with a wounded shoulder. Panting for breath, Shay hauled himself up on the docks a little further down and took off at a run. A group of guards was pursuing him, and he had to make himself scarce.

It took the better part of an hour to shake the guards of his tail, somewhere smack in the middle of Manhattan. Miserably, Shay tore a strip of fabric from the stolen red coat he was still wearing and wrapped it tightly around his forearm to slow the bleeding. It would have to wait. The wound wasn't serious, even if it did hurt like hell. He was just lucky the man who shot him hadn't had proper time to aim for something a little more vital. Still, it was deep and would take some time to heal. ...After he managed to find someone to dig the bullet out without asking too many questions.

With the sun nearly setting on the horizon, Shay finally tracked down one of the criminals responsible for the massacre on board the _Sussex._ He knew him, though not by name. He'd worked for Hope, one of her primary contacts if memory served. Shay followed from the shadows, staying close at heels as the man made his way through the neighborhood. He had a strong Spanish accent when he spoke, and his skin was tanned from spending time outdoors. He had the look of a sailor about him, and Shay wondered if he'd actually been undercover as a member of the _Sussex'_ s crew. It was possible that they'd found a way on board, after all. Shay only oversaw the appointing of Captains for the fleet; he didn't really care much who they saw fit to hire as a crew. Perhaps he should have.

He followed Hope's man to where he finally disappeared through a hatch leading into the network of maintenance tunnels that ran beneath almost the entire city. Shay swore under his breath and waited a few minutes before he too dropped through the small opening. The man's trail was easy to keep; his footprints were fresh in the thick mud. Shay wrinkled his nose in disgust against the stink of mildew and waste as he made his way through the dank tunnel. After what felt like miles of wandering in the dark, he came upon a large open area. Quickly, he flattened himself against the damp wall and peered around the corner.

The criminals seemed to be using the tunnels as a new base of operations. There were ten men, give or take, crowded around the dimly lit room that had everything from makeshift beds to a fire pit in the center for cooking and heat. It was genius really, steam rose from the vents most days, so passersby on the surface would hardly notice the scent of smoke coming from the iron grate above the chamber. Shay considered his options. A relatively large group of men, completely unaware of his presence. Only four of them were actually armed, though the others probably had weapons nearby. Shay was also injured, so the odds weren't exactly in his favor. Still, he'd survived worse odds and close quarters had certain... Advantages. Shay grabbed a berserk grenade from his pack and took aim, not bothering to use the launcher. He tossed it right into the middle of the room where six criminals got caught in the cloud of poisonous gas that erupted. It went off before the men had the slightest chance to react, and the chaos that followed was utterly indescribable. Shay just watched as the gang members did his work for him and tore each other to pieces, quite literally in one case.

When it was over, Shay stepped across the then blood-soaked muddy floor and rifled through the few crates and a large desk in the chamber. In the bottom drawer of the desk that was starting to rot, he found the stolen papers. Heaving a sigh of relief, he tucked them under his coat and went back the way he'd come. If the gang still had them, it was unlikely that the Assassins had gotten any news of their contents yet. Maybe. It was driving Shay to madness, though. Who was leading these operations? Achilles was out of the picture as far as he knew, and the others were dead. Obviously there was some fresh blood on the battlefield... But who? And what were they after? The manuscript perhaps? Shay shook his head and shoved a heavy metal grate out of his way to climb up from a different entrance closer to the waterfront. He greedily took a breath of fresh air and went to retrieve his coat and spare weapons from where he'd hidden them earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cold cook – the undertaker


	16. Never Look Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like everything to do with AC should have some disclaimer because of ALL the angst. Like, with each new game it just gets angstier. LMFAO. Maybe. I haven't played unity. I can't afford a PS4. *sobs* But I secretly thrive on writing angst so...

Trying to get information out of the authorities hadn't gone well for Haytham. They had utterly refused to cooperate, even when he'd shown them the contract that Shay had drawn up for King when he named him Captain of the _Sussex_. It made it relatively clear that the ship and all of its contents were their property, but it still got him nowhere. Haytham was more than a little irritable when he finally gave up some hours later. He had no choice but to leave it in Shay's hands. Gathering information about the attackers would be useful, but the documents were the priority. Shay wouldn't fail, at least. Haytham had that to depend on. He decided to see what he could find by eavesdropping on a pair of off-duty redcoats lounging on a bench near the crime scene.

"I don't know who he was, but we couldn't have caught him to save our lives." One of them, a small, seedy looking man commented. Curious, Haytham thought and listened closely.

"The boss said he didn't touch anythin', so what was he after anyway?" The second one commented. He was a tall, broad shouldered Irishman who was built like a brick house. Haytham would hate to cross paths with him unarmed.

"I don't know, but Thatch and Smith will be laid up for a while. I suppose we're just lucky he didn't kill any of us, the bloke was armed to the teeth after all. I mean, he was one tough son of a bitch. Didn't even flinch when I shot him." The first redcoat replied, waving his hands around dramatically as he spoke. "He didn't seem like a criminal, though. I could swear I've seen him before. I think he's the captain of one of the other private naval ships that's around these parts every now and then." Haytham bit his lip until it bled. _Shay_. They were talking about Shay. ...And he'd been shot?

"The _Cherise_?" The larger man asked, frowning. "Or the _Alouette_?"

"No, it was a real Irish sounding name. She was a big help a couple years back when we were fighting with the frogs. She had red sails, if I remember right." The shady looking man replied.

" _Morrigan_?" The the other man said tartly.

"Aye, that's the one."

"You shot the captain o' the _Morrigan_ and you're still breathin'? That man fights like the devil. ...You know the _Sussex_ is technically his property? King worked for him. He had more right'n us to be there." Haytham fought the urge to run off looking for Shay, but he didn't even know which direction he'd gone in. ...Yet. "But, the way I hear it, he didn't exactly just walk up and ask t'see the scene either. He sneaked in wearin' a stolen uniform, right? I wonder why he he needed to alter the property if it's really his ship." The man continued in a heavy Irish accent, not unlike Shay's.

"You two! Quit dawdling around! There's work to be done!" An officer called nearby and the two men scrambled to obey. Haytham swore under his breath. At least he had something to go on. Shay was wounded, and probably wearing a British military uniform. He'd have to find him before he did something reckless. A few documents were worth far less to Haytham than Shay's life. _Nothing_ was worth Shay's life. He hurried off in the direction of the _Sussex_ , hoping to find something that might lead him to Shay.

After a bit of slinking around in the shadows and avoiding the overly wary guards, Haytham found what he was looking for – a faint trail of still-wet blood spots leading away from the docks beside the _Sussex_. He followed it through a series of back alleys until he came upon one of the many openings to the network of maintenance tunnels that ran beneath the city. He was just about the open it, when a shout and the distinct sound of clashing steel rang through the air. Haytham drew his sword and rounded the corner of the alley he was in just in time to see Shay throw a man up against the wall with enough force that the sound of snapping bone rang through the air.

"Tell me where he is." Shay demanded, pressing his dagger to the man's throat. "Tell me!" He repeated when the man shook his head mutely.

"I can't! He'll kill my family!" The wretch finally replied. "Kill me if you will, at least no one will hurt my little girl then!"

"And what about the other children?" Shay demanded. "Did their lives not matter?" The man whimpered and writhed in Shay's hold, managing to land a hit on Shay's injured shoulder. He lost his grip just long enough for the man to escape, but he didn't make it far. He fell to the ground, a look of shock on his lifeless face as Haytham shot him straight through the back of his head.

"Damn it, Haytham! I needed him alive!" Shay snarled, tightening the bit of blood-soaked fabric he tied around the wound.

"Shay, what is going on here?" Haytham demanded, stepping over the man's corpse.

"I found the documents, but I ran into some more o' these louts on my way back. They're gettin' followers by threatenin' their families. If they don't agree to help the gang, they kill their wives and children – and make them watch. I was too late to stop this animal from killin' a little boy. I don't know who's behind this. The Assassins aren't _that_ ruthless." Shay explained. "...Sir?"

Haytham balled his hands into fists and kicked the wall in frustration. The only thought in his mind was of Braddock and his merciless slaying of that family at Fort Bergen Op Zoom. How could any sane person take their blade to the throat of a child, or a defenseless woman? How could they do that and look at themselves in a mirror, while still thinking that they'd done nothing wrong – that there was nothing profane about the murder of an innocent human being? Yet, how much better was he? He _had_ threatened that child when he was pursuing the man he had thought was responsible for his father's murder. ...And he might have done it had the father not cooperated.

"Sir?" Shay repeated and Haytham looked up at him, barely holding in the mindless anger.

"Shay, we are going to find these bastards and slaughter them to a man. Do I make myself clear?" Haytham barked, meeting Shay's eyes.

Shay just gave him a displeased glare. "...I sort o' already did. There's only their leader that's on the run, and you just killed the one man left that'd know where t'find him. They had a base in the tunnels. I did a bit o' house cleanin' earlier. They were the same louts that killed King and his men. There might be more o' them skulkin' about, but I'd have to hunt them down."

"Ballocks." Haytham swore.

"Is somethin'... Are you alright?" Shay asked, applying pressure to the obviously still bleeding wound with another bit of fabric he tore from the British uniform he was wearing. Haytham might have thought he admired the look of Shay in the uniform, if not for all the blood and his current temperament.

"I – Yes. There's nothing we can do. Let us get you home." Haytham snapped. "Make no mistake, we are going to find this man and put an end to him – even if it takes years." Shay watched him with obvious concern, but followed when Haytham started off back toward the main road. They walked in silence for a time, Shay carrying his leather overcoat and spare weapons in his arms. He was obviously in pain, though Haytham knew he wouldn't complain.

"There's a story behind all that, en't there?" Shay asked as Haytham led him into a small apothecary. Haytham didn't reply. "Would you tell me if I asked?" He pressed, closing the door behind him.

"Not now." Haytham said, with a harsh edge to his voice. He ignored Shay's glaring as he rattled off a list of things he needed to the young male shopkeeper. He could take Shay to a doctor, yes, but it wasn't a very serious wound and he _had_ learned how to treat such things during his time with Braddock. The less questions asked, the better. Perhaps some good had come of that particularly low part of his life. Very _little_ good, mind you. Like Shay, Haytham had his own set of emotional triggers and traumatizing memories. He'd just learned over time to suppress it. Well, for the most part. He saved his breakdowns for when no one else was around to witness them.

The trek back to Fort Arsenal was spent mostly in silence. Haytham didn't feel like talking, not when he knew Shay would just ask him to explain his outburst. He didn't want to say a single word about it, or any of his own past really. He spent every day in near denial of the atrocities that lay behind him, constantly moving forward and not daring to look back. There was too much hurt there to turn around and face it. Just _thinking_ about it was enough to make him ache where Lucio had stabbed him. Though, he knew that not to be entirely psychosomatic. He was lucky to have survived, never mind healed. Of course it ached sometimes. The worst part of that was that he thoroughly deserved every moment of the suffering it had caused for having been so blindly ignorant of Birch's actions. ...Birch.

"Damn it all." Haytham muttered to himself, dashing the thoughts from his mind.

"Did you say somethin'?" Shay asked, still walking along beside him.

"No, nothing." Haytham replied sourly.

"You know, you can tell me." Shay reminded him. "We're in this together now."

"I will. I just need time." Haytham snapped a little more rudely than he'd meant to. Shay just shrugged, and obviously instantly regretted the movement if the momentary wince of pain that crossed his face was any indication.

* * *

"Are you _tryin'_ to kill me?!" Shay whined as Haytham did his best to very carefully remove the bullet lodged in Shay's shoulder.

"If you hold still it would be easier on the both of us." He grumbled. Shay sighed and shook his head, leaning forward a bit against the oaken surface of the long table in the dining room for support. Charles and Gist were nowhere to be seen, presumably still off conducting investigations of their own – even though it was well past midnight. Haytham wasn't especially worried. Shay was there with him, he didn't really care what Gist and Charles spent the wee hours of the morning doing. Gist was probably holed up in some tavern anyway; Charles was like as not forced to tag along.

Sparing a glance at Shay, Haytham decided it was high time he opened up at least a little bit concerning his past. "When I worked for Braddock a few years back, he... Well, you can ask Gist about his general disposition if you care to. He served under him as well. The man was a tyrant, and a disgrace to the Templar Order. I was never particularly fond of him, but it got worse. At the end of the siege of Bergen Op Zoom, a civilian family begged us for safe passage. I agreed to take them on board, but Braddock refused. When the man insulted him, Braddock slaughtered him – and his entire family. ...Even the children." Haytham explained, and dropped the bullet onto the pile of blood-soaked linens Shay had wrapped around his arm earlier.

"Aye, Gist has mentioned him a few times. He said he wasn't surprised when he was killed. Apparently the men thought one o' their own had turned on him, and none o' them were bothered by it. They just wished it had been them, or that they'd known so they could help off him." Shay replied, watching as Haytham wiped blood from his hands.

"It was not one of his men that killed him. It was me, disguised as one of them." Haytham replied, with the barest hint of a smile. Gist was actually most likely the only member of their rite that _didn't_ know it was Haytham that had done it, as he'd joined after that particular debacle. "I needed Braddock out of the way to gain Ziio's trust – to find the way to precursor site. ...Though that is not to say I was particularly put out to have to kill the bastard. He had been moving away from the Order and its ideals for some time as it was."

"I suppose that's your way o' tellin' me that Gist's rants about how much of a horse's arse he was are all true, then." Shay commented, flinching involuntarily when Haytham poured alcohol over the wound to disinfect it.

"I do not doubt it." Haytham replied and pressed a clean cloth to Shay's shoulder. "Even Master Gist could not possibly exaggerate where complaining of that man's cruelty is concerned." They sat in silence for a while as Haytham dressed Shay's wound. It felt strange talking about these things – things he'd wished never happened. His entire life as he knew it was built upon betrayal leavened with lies.

"I joined the Order as a child, recruited by the very man that destroyed my family. He expected me to forgive him, or to at least understand that he had murdered my father and sold my sister into slavery for the greater good – all because my father was an Assassin and he had information about a precursor site that he desired. But I did not forgive him, and I certainly will never forget the life he that stole from me. ...Even if I did choose to stay the path of a Templar." Haytham said bitterly as he began cleaning up the mess. Shay watched him wordlessly as he tossed the blood-stained linens into the fireplace.

"I suppose it's fair to assume this man is feastin' on a diet o' worms?" Shay asked, giving Haytham a soft smile.

"Yes, though it was actually my sister who killed him and not I. To this day she is disappointed that she did not manage to make him eat his own cock before he died. ...So am I." Haytham replied, thinking fondly of Jenny's latest letter where she'd made a similar remark. They rarely wrote of that nightmare, or their lives before being reunited. Normally it was useless tripe about the weather, or politics. I'm still alive, and I see that you are as well, was really all the letters meant to either or them. Of that, Haytham had no doubt. His relationship with Jenny was damaged beyond all repair, not that they ever really were particularly close. Still, as his only living relative, he did care for her well-being regardless of their past. ...And then he thought of Holden for the first time since returning to the colonies. The wave of grief that overcame him was utterly crippling. Without another word, Haytham commented that he needed some air and vanished from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dawdling – wasting time
> 
> altering the property – wearing a disguise
> 
> feasting on a diet of worms – dead and buried


	17. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically porn and angst. Bring tissues.

Shay watched Haytham go, with a puzzled look on his face. He'd gotten some answers, yes, but it only left him with even more questions than he had before. He knew next to nothing about Haytham's past, and now that he had a few bits and pieces of it to fit together, it was obvious that Haytham was just as broken as he was – if not more. He hadn't known that he had a sister, or of the fate of his family. Gist had mentioned that Haytham's father had been an Assassin, and that had been the extent of either of their knowledge. But lies and betrayal? It seemed like they were bitter old friends to Haytham, just as they were to Shay. He got up from the chair and wandered out into the foyer. He was dead tired, and his body protested the thought of doing anything, but the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. He'd be alone anyway, that was a given. Haytham had obviously been struggling with some memory and chose to flee rather than allow Shay to see him fall apart.

Grudgingly, Shay made his way upstairs. However, the room wasn't empty as he'd expected it to be. Haytham was outside on the balcony, looking up at the stars. Shay decided to leave him be and wandered into the washroom. He was filthy and still stank of the tunnels. It felt like hours by the time he was finally clean and returned to the room. Haytham was sitting on the bed then, writing in his journal. His expression seemed far away, and he spared Shay no mind as he sat beside him and looked over his shoulder at the page in the journal. Haytham snapped it shut before he could read a single word.

"The way I see it," Shay whispered in his ear, "You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can try to talk it out. ... _Or_ we could just have sex and you can try to forget about it until you _are_ ready to talk about it. Your choice, boss."

"Option three it is." Haytham conceded and let Shay take him in a soft kiss. There was nothing rushed or desperate about it that night, and Shay took his sweet time divesting Haytham of his clothes – that would most certainly _not_ be strewn through the hall. Haytham didn't let him have the upper hand for long, though. Shay mumbled a string of indignant swearing as Haytham nipped at a sensitive spot on his throat and shoved him down hard against the bed. He liked it though, letting Haytham take the reigns. He knew he could be gentle if he wanted to, but both of them obviously preferred it a little rough.

Shay sucked in a startled breath as Haytham left a series of hot kisses across his chest and nudged his knee into his groin. He arched himself against Haytham and rested his hands on his hips, his left hand brushing over the large scar on Haytham's side. He'd noticed it last time, too and had forgotten to ask what the hell had apparently tried to eat him. His thoughts came to a skidding halt as Haytham sucked at one of his nipples and he pinched the other one between his thumb and forefinger. For someone who'd never been with a man before, he certainly didn't have any reservations about diving in head-first, Shay had to give him that.

He'd forgotten how good it felt, really. To just let go, even for just a little while. It wasn't escapism if it was with Haytham, or so Shay reasoned. If letting the man drown his misery in sex actually helped, then Shay was glad to be of some assistance. If nothing else, maybe he'd actually be willing to talk about what was troubling him afterward. Shay moaned and squirmed in Haytham's grip, as he nibbled at the skin near his navel and blew a puff of hot air across the tip of his cock that was already throbbing with need.

"So noisy, Shay..." Haytham chastised him and pulled his fingers from his thoroughly disheveled hair. Shay twisted them into the sheets instead, finding that he needed something – _anything_ – solid to hang onto as he felt an oil slicked finger prod at his entrance – much more carefully than the last time. Not that he even cared, as his brain completely short circuited when Haytham chose that moment to grip his cock tightly in his hand. If he were even slightly conscious of his surroundings, Shay might have been horribly embarrassed by the broken moaning that escaped him as Haytham worked. He was a writhing, panting mess about two skips from his breaking point when Haytham settled himself into position between Shay's legs.

"Ready?" Haytham asked in a husky whisper and kissed him hard.

"Aye. Get on with it, then." Shay replied, resting his hands on Haytham's hips and wondering how in God's name he'd managed to form a proper sentence while his entire body was crying out with need.

"Manners, Shay." Haytham said flatly, and gave him a glare that was equal parts stern and playful. Shay just stared up at him dumbly.

"...Please?" He mumbled, and sucked in a sharp breath as Haytham nipped at the sensitive spot just below his ear.

"Please, what?" Haytham pressed, sliding his hand along Shay's thigh and stopping just as his fingers brushed the nest of soft black curls at the base of his cock. He bucked his hips involuntarily, desperate for any kind of friction, but Haytham held him down firmly.

"Take me. Goddammit, Haytham! _Please._ " Shay whined, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

"That will have to do for now..." Haytham said with a shake of his head and slid inside of Shay. Shay sighed in bliss and let his eyes slide closed as Haytham began to move, slowly at first. He had one hand twisted into the sheets, near to tearing. The other was resting lightly on Haytham's hips, just below the gnarly scar on his side. Haytham shifted his position slightly and pried Shay's fingers from the sheets. "Relax," He breathed in Shay's ear as he continued at a slow, yet steady pace. Shay did relax, moving in unison with Haytham as he began take him with a bit more force.

"Mm... Faster." Shay mumbled, fully aware that the only reason he wasn't a boneless mess was because of the fact that Haytham was holding him in place.

"Shh. No. I want to do this right this time." Haytham breathed, the words slurred slightly as he fought the urge to comply. Shay arched his back and mewled like a cat in heat as Haytham repeatedly angled himself right for his prostate. He certainly learned a few things since the other day, Shay thought vacantly. But then again, Haytham was nothing if not efficient. Surely mastering the art of bedding a man would be no different than anything else in that respect. Shay lost track of time, aware of nothing but the sound of Haytham's ragged breathing, his breath hot on his bare skin. Everything seemed to just slip away into the abyss, or simply it didn't matter. He was filled with, and surrounded by Haytham and nothing about it could have been more perfect.

When the climax came, it took Shay completely by surprise – with the force of a hurricane. He clung to Haytham, half convinced he'd be swept away by the waves of pleasure as they crashed through him. Distantly, he thought he might have moaned Haytham's name. His whole body trembled while Haytham drew it out as long as possible and hit the edge himself, filling Shay with the heat of his release. It wasn't until Haytham collapsed on top of him, gasping for breath and whispering a slew of incoherent endearments, that Shay realized he hadn't even touched his cock. With some amusement, he thought to himself that sex was like anything else – an art improved through skill and attention to detail. Haytham, being the stickler for little details that he was, didn't need to repeat the process some fifty times to figure out what felt best and how to do it.

"Shay?" Haytham mumbled, nuzzling his nose against the ex-Assassin's cheek as they lay basking in the afterglow.

"Mmm?"

Haytham trailed the tip of his index finger along the scar on his face. "What gave you this scar?"

"Tell me what gave you this one, and I'll answer that." Shay said lazily and rested the palm of his hand against the marred skin on Haytham's side. He didn't reply, but a slightly sharp intake of breath suggested the Shay had hit a nerve. He decided to try to his luck. "Well?"

"I was stabbed a few years ago. By a young man." Haytham replied. Shay gently prodded his shoulder and and kissed him softly.

"And?"

"...It nearly killed me." Haytham replied evasively. "Obviously, to leave a scar like that. Shay, your post-sex etiquette needs work as well, I see."

"No, no. _You_ started this one." Shay retorted, resting his head on Haytham's chest. It felt so good just to touch him that there simply weren't words. Haytham let out an irritated sigh and ran his fingers through Shay's hair.

"I was ordered by the Grand Master at the time to to capture a young man, to be reunited with his mother so that she would be willing to translate an encoded journal detailing information about the precursor site that I was sent here to find. Little did I know, he kept them prisoner in terrible conditions. When I discovered that it was he, Reginald Birch, who had my father murdered and fed me lies for my entire life, I conspired against him. The day that we killed him, I found and released his prisoners – Maria and Lucio were their names. Lucio apparently couldn't forgive my ignorance of their plight and ran me through. I cannot say I blame him, really." Haytham replied, in a strained tone. With the way he spoke, like he'd rather hang himself, Shay realized it wasn't any easier for Haytham to open up about these events than it had been for him to discuss Liam.

"Did you let them go?" Shay asked, frowning. Haytham nodded stiffly.

"Apparently the last thing I said before I blacked out was to spare them, though I have no memory of it. I would have anyway. What befell them was my fault. Birch's mindless obsession with the precursor artifacts robbed him of any morals he might have once possessed, but I was ignorant of that, choosing instead to believe that he had nothing to do with quite a few atrocities over the years. All the signs were there, but he had been my mentor who had taken the place of my father. I refused to see any evil in him until it was far too late to reconcile." Haytham explained wearily. "The Assassins may have their fair share of bad apples, but so too do the Templars."

"There was a friend of mine, who was there that day. Jim Holden was his name. In many ways, I think he may have been to me what Liam was to you, though we were never lovers. He was a dear friend to me, and an accomplice in my crusade against Braddock who murdered his brother. When we rescued my sister from the Ottomans, we botched the mission. He stayed behind to distract the guards while Jenny and I escaped." Haytham continued.

Shay just let him talk, terrified that if he interrupted Haytham might stop. "So, he died so you two could get out." Shay said sadly, when Haytham fell silent.

"No, no. It was much worse. He... Shay, they... He was captured, and sent to a monastery where the Coptic priests there made him into a eunuch. I rescued him of course, but it was too little and too late. He worked alongside me long enough to see Birch dead. ...And once he was sure I'd recovered from Lucio's attack, he took his own life. I cannot blame him for that. Never. I would have done the same in his place. Though, I do blame myself for his fate. All he cared about was making sure I survived and was well enough to be back on my feet."

Shay made a face that was somewhere between a wince and disgust. "I hope t'God those bastards are all rottin' in eternity boxes, too. A man's not a man without his cock."

Haytham chuckled quietly to himself at Shay's choice of words. "I do not know if I killed them all; getting Jim out was my primary concern. But I did slaughter every one of them that I could find and burnt the monastery to the ground. I can say that was honestly the only time I have ever enjoyed killing."

"Good." Shay replied and yawned. "What happened t'your sister after all that?"

"She lives in the old family home in Queen Anne's square, back in London." Haytham explained. "We exchange letters, but mostly only to make sure the other is still alive. We really have very little to say to each other. Again, her fate was also my fault. Rather, I could have found her much sooner than I had. ...But I allowed Reginald to lead me astray."

"How... How do you live with all o' that and never have a problem knowin' which way's up?" Shay asked, his eyes meeting Haytham's.

The hollow despair Shay saw in Haytham's eyes was enough to answer the question without words. "I do not." He finally admitted.

"Well, no need to keep runnin' from it. You can cry on my shoulder too, if you want. God knows I spent enough time cryin' on yours the other night. You know I wouldn't tell a soul." Haytham glared at him and ruffled his hair affectionately.

"...Are we quite finished with this conversation?" Haytham complained.

"Fair enough. And... I honestly don't know where this scar came from, since you asked. Either when I threw myself through the window o' Achilles' manor to escape, or when I fell. I don't really remember much o' what happened that night. Probably for the better." Shay replied, looking up at the ceiling.

"Probably." Haytham agreed, and Shay let him pull him as close as physically possible as he drew the covers over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternity box – a coffin


	18. Parting Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, there like a plot and stuff... Also going to be pretty canon divergent in the next chapter. You'll see why when I post it. Enjoy!

It took Shay a good week to track down the leaders of the gang through intercepting letters and beating the answer out of a courier. Haytham spent the time preparing to return to Boston. If what the documents from Johnson and Weeks that Shay had reclaimed said were true, he had quite a bit of work ahead of him. According to the others, political tensions were on the rise and they had good reason to suspect Assassin interference. Somewhat dejectedly, Haytham stuffed the last of his maps and charts into a leather case. He and Shay would have to go their separate ways for a while. ...Neither of them was looking forward to it.

"Their base seems t'be in Anticosti." Shay complained, helping Haytham load his things on board the _Sussex,_ that now had a new captain and crew. "I'll meet up with your lot in Boston when I'm done there."

"Be careful, Shay. This seems like a trap." Haytham warned him and leaned against the railing on the recently repaired schooner.

"It'll be fine. I en't plannin' on droppin' off the perch just yet, Sir." Shay said, giving Haytham a coy smile. Haytham returned it somewhat uncertainly. He didn't like the plan. Yes, Shay would have Gist and the _Morrigan_ 's crew, but they still would be fighting the rogues on their own turf. ...If it wasn't a trap. It sure looked like one, with little clues laid like bait to lure the Templars' favored hunter into a spike pit. Haytham dashed the thoughts from his mind. It would no good to give himself an ulcer before he even departed for Boston.

"Do not do anything reckless, do you understand me?" Haytham snapped in his usual cold, authoritative tone. Shay stared right back at him. "Because, so help me God, I-"

Shay rolled his eyes and cut him off mid-sentence. "Why? Because you said so, Sir?" Haytham glared daggers at him. Before Shay had the time to torment him any further, he shoved him against the railing behind him hard enough to bruise and kissed him like his life depended on it. Because I don't want to live without you, Haytham thought to himself as he pulled away panting.

"Just make sure you come back in one piece. The Order needs you." Was what Haytham actually said. Because _I_ need you, he added mentally. "What the bloody Hell are you all looking at! Get to work!" He snarled, noticing the ship's crew all staring at them in varying states of shock. The ones closest to him scrambled to get away, not wanting to test the stories about Haytham's ruthlessness and skill with a blade for themselves. Shay just laughed and vaulted over the side of the ship, landing on the docks with ease. He waved goodbye, as the first mate called to hoist the anchor. Haytham watched until the docks were mere specks on the horizon before he finally turned away to the open sea before him.

It was the sound of Charles speaking that snapped Haytham out of the sort of trance he'd fallen into. "Are sure that was wise, Sir?" He asked, giving the Grand Master a sideways glance. Truth be told, he'd forgotten Charles was even there. "...After all, it is not likely that the rest of society will be as open minded about your trysts with Master Cormac as we are."

"If you call it a tryst again, Charles, I will kill you as slowly and painfully as physically possible. Though, you are right. I was not thinking." Haytham retorted, not even turning to look at him.

"Understood. ...But what _should_ I call it, Sir?"

"Anything but that." Haytham replied and walked away stiffly to stand behind the Captain, who happened to be Mills – the _Morrigan_ 's navigator, and First Mate when Gist needed a rest. If nothing else, with Mills and Martin leading the _Sussex_ 's crew, Haytham knew he had nothing to fear in regards to making it to Boston in one piece. Both of them were capable sailors, and no less skilled with swords or guns. ...Haytham also suspected Martin might maim anyone who had a single negative comment to make him about his apparent affair with Shay. Both of them were extremely protective of their captain as Haytham had witnessed during their last voyage.

When they'd left fort Baie Rouge, and Shay had shut himself in his cabin, it didn't settle well with some of the men. Martin had told them in no uncertain terms what would happen to lot of them if their loyalty to their captain wavered. ...And here was a man who spoke only when necessary, and never chose violence unless it was a last resort. He might have more muscle than a barbarian warrior, but Haytham knew him to be a stoic, gentle soul. Well, mostly.

"I'd ask if you kissed him yet, but..." Mills said, giving Haytham a wink.

"There is no need to inquire any further, obviously." Haytham replied, shaking his head.

"Don't you do anythin' reckless either, Master Kenway. Captain Shay'll tan our hides if you get so much as a scratch on you." Martin added. Haytham hadn't even noticed him on Mills' left. If any of the _Morrigan'_ s crew stood a chance at being a properly trained killer like he and Shay, it was Martin. He could hide in plain sight, even being such a large man. He was the sort of person that naturally faded into a crowd, but could command the center of attention with ease if a situation called for it.

"I will keep it in mind. How long will it take to reach Boston?" Haytham asked.

"No more'n a week if the weather holds." Martin told him and called for fail sail.

"So, how did the two of you come to sail with Shay, anyway? It's doubtless you could have found more lucrative work with your skills." Haytham asked, hoping idle conversation might be enough to shake off the mindless worry he felt for what Shay was getting himself into.

"We met Shay in Anticosti, actually." Mills explained. "I was the navigator for a British Frigate, the _Elizabeth._ Martin here was the Quartermaster. She was wrecked off the coast of Anticosti in a snowstorm, we made it shore in on one of the rowboats. We were the only survivors."

"The Royal Navy allowed an Irishman such a rank?" Haytham asked curiously.

Martin shrugged. "Most o' my family's Irish, aye, but I was born and raised in London by my aunt. We were poor, and I was tired o' living like a beggar. I joined the Navy as soon as I was old enough."

"At any rate, the French were anything but happy to have us so we had to steal food to get by, because no one would sell to us or give us honest work. We gave up on any hope of getting rescued after a few months." Mills continued. "As it happens, we got caught stealing to help the local smugglers for some coin. ...And were moments away from being executed by a firing squad when Captain Shay saved us. He was still working with the Assassins then, and had only just taken the _Morrigan_. We've sailed with him ever since. ...Even as part of the crew that went to Lisbon. Though, it was dumb luck that we were in that tavern in Greenwich when mister Gist was looking for a new crew. We quit working for the Assassins when they told us that Shay had died and were between jobs."

"Better'n bein' surrounded by a bunch o' posh British gits, anyhow." Martin said with a nod of his head.

"Watch it there, Paddy Whack." Mills said sarcastically and rolled his eyes. Haytham listened vacantly as the two of them fell into an obviously familiar round of pointless banter. So they'd been to Lisbon when it all started to go downhill for Shay? Curious. If nothing else, it explained a few things. They knew what he'd seen.

Haytham left them and wandered the ship's deck. The _Sussex_ was smaller than the _Morrigan_ , and only had about half the crew. Haytham recognized a few them from their work with the rest of the fleet, though not by name. They were a hardy bunch of men who passed the time with laughter and a good helping of some rather crude songs. Unlike the _Morrigan'_ s crew, however, they wanted little to do with him. Though, Haytham figured that had more to do with his somewhat thoughtless display earlier. It wasn't that he was unaware of the general public's opinion of homosexuals, it just wasn't a thought that had occurred to him at that particular moment. ...He was really slipping lately. Normally, he never would have failed to consider the consequences of his actions, no matter how small.

He found Charles lounging near the bow and sat on top of a pile of crates beside him. They were full of tobacco, probably. The _Sussex_ was loaded with cargo; there was hardly any point in embarking on a profitless voyage just to see Haytham and Charles to Boston.

"A lively bunch, aren't they?" Charles asked idly and glanced over at Haytham.

"I suppose." Haytham muttered, staring out over the open sea. He'd never admit it aloud, but he'd rather be beside Shay on board the _Morrigan_. ...Even with having to listen to the wildly exaggerated tales of every drunken romp Gist had ever had. He imagined being tangled up with Shay in his cabin, rather than alone in his bunk below decks. Actually, that was something to make a note of – sex in the _Morrigan_ 's cabin (preferably involving Shay's desk) belonged somewhere relatively high up on his list of priorities.

"...Sir?" Haytham gave Charles an odd, sort of questioning glance.

"A thousand pardons. Did you ask me something?"

"I inquired as to what your opinion of Weeks' letters was." Charles said in a flat tone; it was glaringly obvious that he was repeating himself. "It is quite alright if you would rather keep it quiet for now, but you never really discussed it with the rest of us."

"We will discuss it with the others when we reach Boston," Haytham replied. "I do not wish to jump to any conclusions without seeing the situation for myself."

* * *

The days passed by at a snail's pace. Haytham spent most of the time lounging about on the upper deck, sometimes filling in for Mills at the helm when he needed a rest. His thoughts often wandered to Shay. He tried not to worry, but the whole thing reeked of a trap. It was just too easy. It didn't sit right with Haytham that a group of criminals that had evaded Shay's watchful eye for just shy of a year were so easily tracked. No, they were using their activities as bait, luring him to a remote location and -

"Master Kenway, we'll be reachin' Boston by nightfall." Haytham blinked and made a small sound of acknowledgment. He had the tiller while Mills was taking a nap, and checking over his charts. It was just he and Martin on the upper deck. "Are you well?"

"Fine, Martin. Thank you. My thoughts are simply elsewhere." Haytham told him in a tone that was carefully devoid of emotion.

"Aye, with our Captain no doubt." He said with a chuckle. It was the first time any of the _Sussex_ 's crew had made a comment to him in regards to Haytham's relationship with Shay, no matter how vague.

"Indeed." Haytham admitted. "That does not bother you?"

"Nothin' t'be bothered by. These boys don't know him like Mills and I, but the entire crew o' the _Morrigan_ knew about him and Liam. Mills and I aren't the only ones that were part o' the original crew. 'Sides, they couldn't o' kept it a secret if they tried." Martin answered, leaning against the railing as he kept a watchful eye on one of the deckhands that was loafing about nearby. "Just be good to him. ...And send Mills' lazy arse back up here. I don't trust your steerin' to dock her properly. No offense o' course, Master Kenway."

"I shall try." Haytham said with a sigh and let Martin take the wheel.

He found Mills in his cabin, pouring over a map of the river valley. He looked up when Haytham walked in and gave him an easy smile. "We're landing soon, I take it?" He asked, rolling the map up and storing it neatly in a crate on the floor next to the desk that full of rolled up naval charts.

"Yes." Haytham replied simply. "You're needed up on deck."

* * *

Being back in Boston felt neither refreshing nor nostalgic. The air was still rank, the streets still littered with refuse and the townsfolk as rude as ever. Haytham hadn't been ashore ten minutes and wondered if he'd ever be able to scrub the stink of Boston off of his skin. He knew the way to the Green dragon so well, that he barely even paid attention to where he was walking as he made his way there with Charles in tow.

"Well, well. Look who it is." Haytham looked up, just before he reached up to grab the door handle to the tavern where it all began.

"Good afternoon, Catherine." Charles said politely to the pug-like looking woman who partly owned the tavern. Honestly, Haytham rather disliked her poor attitude and hadn't forgotten that one time she'd had the audacity to 'accidentally' smack him with a broom handle as she'd walked by. Then again, he'd probably hate everything and everyone if he'd been born with a face like hers, too. She gave him a sour glare and he shook his head as he entered the tavern. Charles made a disapproving sound and followed Haytham like a faithful little pet.

It was bustling as it usually was late in the evening. Haytham made his way through the crowd of toss-pot British guards and a myriad of townspeople and climbed the stairs to the loft. Charles managed to grab a tankard of Ale somewhere along the way and took a long gulp of it as he stepped up behind Haytham. Johnson, Hickey and Weeks were there arguing about expenses when Haytham politely greeted them.

"Good to see you made it here in one piece, Sir." William said cordially and motioned for Haytham and Charles to sit. "Pitcairn and Church should be back shortly. I sent them off on a job of sorts."

"Let us cut to the chase then," Haytham said as he took his seat. "What do we know about the Assassins getting back on their feet?"

"Not much; jus' some rumors and more'n few corpses." Thomas replied.

"Still, it would be unwise to leave anything to chance. The targets have been powerful businessmen – all them contacts of ours. We doubt that's a mere coincidence." Weeks explained. "It hardly cripples us to lose a few merchant connections, but that could just be the beginning of a grander scheme."

"The same thing has been happening in New York," Charles supplied. "The _Sussex_ 's entire crew was slaughtered, though Master Cormac recovered our correspondences and tracked the culprits to a base in Anticosti. A few minor contacts of ours have turned up dead as well."

"Where is Shay now? I thought he would have come." Weeks asked, glancing in Haytham's direction.

"Shay is on his way to Anticosti with Gist to shake the criminals hiding there out of their nest. He should be meeting us here when he is done with that. In the meantime,we should see what we can find out about our local group of miscreants." Haytham suggested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To drop off the perch – dropping dead
> 
> Paddy Whack – a derogatory term for an Irishman.
> 
> Toss-pot - a drunkard


	19. If it Looks Like a Trap, it Probably is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. Life's been throwing me a curve ball. Oh, and hello there plot, I knew you were in here somewhere...

Shay shivered and curled up under the blankets in his cabin on board the _Morrigan_. Being the middle of winter, it didn't feel any warmer than the North Sea. He'd never really minded chilly nights before, but it felt strangely cold to be sleeping alone. Had he really grown that accustomed to Haytham's presence in such a short time? It seemed unlikely, but apparently it was true. Shay knew he shouldn't worry so much about Haytham, that he was more than capable of looking out for himself and honestly a wee bit better a better at handling a sword than he was. ...Shay would admit that over his dead body. Still, he didn't like being separated from him. It wasn't the journey to Boston that he was fretting over – Mills and Martin would make it there in one piece, no doubt. But if the criminals had a decent base there... Shay shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind.

Irritably, he rolled over so he could see out the window behind his desk. There wasn't much to look at. He could just make out the moon hanging low on the horizon. He should be more worried about himself, if anything. Anticosti was nothing but a well-baited trap, but he and Gist had made it out of tighter scrapes before. He had a plan, anyway. The last time he'd been there, the place had been nothing but a bunch of french troops and criminals working for the Assassins. In other words, it wouldn't exactly be a huge loss if he leveled the place with the _Morrigan'_ s mortars. He'd be helping his own cause, and King George's in one go. ...He'd still never get used to having the Royal Navy at his back, though.

Restlessly, Shay heaved himself out of bed and settled into the chair near his desk. He lit the whale oil lamp there for some decent light and dug through the bottom drawer. There was a small, but well made leather bound journal stashed there – under a pile of folded up maps. Haytham had given it to him a few day before they'd set sail to take down the _Aquila_. He'd told Shay that maybe if he wrote about some of things that troubled him, he might be able to sort his thoughts out a bit. Shay had completely forgotten about it, which had worked out for the better as he had no desire to put words to his utter misery. Uncertainly, he stared at the cover that was embossed with the Templar cross. ...Maybe now he could. What would he even write? Shaking his head, he put the journal back into it's place.

* * *

They could see Anticosti on the horizon now, its shoreline cutting a jagged line into the early morning sky. Shay went over the plan in his head one last time. It would be the easiest route to just level the place, but he had to be sure it was really just a nest of criminals first – that meant going onshore. The French troupes had finally pulled out a couple months ago, leaving the place relatively abandoned. ...Or so the rumors told.

Shay docked the _Morrigan_ on the back side of the island, the cliffs hopefully would conceal her position. He told the others to wait and found his way over the rugged terrain into the fort that was in a terrible state of disrepair. There were hardly any signs of life. If it weren't a few recently snuffed fires that he stumbled upon and footprints in the icy mud, Shay might have believed the place was abandoned. After an hour or so of scouring the area, he came upon the makeshift town center that was full of men milling about. They were a motley bunch, wearing worn clothes and armed to the teeth. All them seemed to be of mixed nationalities, and some of them were even women. They had one thing in common, though; all of them wore a white hood and a sash with the Assassin emblem at their waist. Shay swore under his breath. He'd never be able to take them all. There was sure to be more of them inside the buildings as well, taking shelter from the cold. He had counted five ships in their harbor, all of them well-equipped brigs. If he fired the _Morrigan's_ mortars at the fort, they'd be on her like flies on a corpse. ...If they were seaworthy. They were all in desperate need of repair, but it was a risk Shay would rather not take with Gist at the helm.

Just as he was about to return to the _Morrigan_ and come up with a proper plan, he stepped on a twig that snapped loudly under his boot.

"Shite." He mumbled, as the men and women in the town center turned in his direction. They couldn't see him, but they'd heard him. They knew he was there. ...Or so he thought. He only narrowly avoided a woman who dove off a ledge above him, her hidden blade sinking into the dirt instead of his back. Then, chaos erupted and Shay set off at a run – dodging bullets and throwing knives alike. He didn't even feel the sting of the poisoned dart that pierced the side of his neck until his legs gave way under him and he fell into an awkward heap. Desperately, he fought the sedative as his vision turned cloudy. He still had the will to run, but his body wouldn't co-operate. The last thing Shay saw before he blacked out was a familiar face looking down at him.

Shay hovered somewhere between lucidity and unconsciousness for some time. There were moments where he was aware of his surroundings (a sparsely furnished interrogation chamber of some sort), and other times all of his usual slew of nightmares flashed through his subconscious. At one point he was running through the smoldering ruins of Lisbon with Liam hot on his heels. Then there was snow, and the sound of shattering glass as he fell through the homestead window. Achilles had a gun to his head and -

"Shay." His head was spinning. He tried to lash out, but found that his hands were bound behind him. Maybe. Maybe he was just in coma. He couldn't really feel his body at all. "Stop strugglin', totty-head. You're makin' it worse. The antidote will start workin ' soon." Shay shook his head. Now he was really losing his mind. That was Liam's voice. But how? He was dead. ...He was hallucinating. Obviously. Shay's breaths came in strained gasps. He had to escape, but how?

"I bloody _told_ you it was a trap." He could hear Haytham say somewhere in the back of his mind. _Haytham_. He had to escape. He had to make it back to Haytham...

Feeling returned to limbs slowly, and his whole body tingled painfully. Now able to string together a sentient thought, he recognized the poison. It was one of Hope's. It caused hallucinations and an accelerated heart rate. Usually it took about ten minutes for the heart to give out while the victim was running from imaginary demons conjured by his own mind. ...Nothing like dying in utter terror.

"Easy now, Shay. Deep breaths." Once again, he tried to strike against the hazy shape of the man standing in front of him that had Liam's voice. This time he, had some control of his muscles – not enough to do any damage, though. He managed to tip himself out of the chair he was propped up in and would have landed in a heap on the floor if a strong pair of hands didn't grab him by the shoulders and force him back into it. His heart fluttered like the wing beats of a butterfly in his chest. His head lolled forward against the shoulder of the man holding him in place and he passed out.

* * *

The first thing Shay was consciously aware of was the cold, closely followed crippling pain in the form of an epic headache that ignited the moment his nose registered the scent of strong tea in the air. He was laying in a bed, or on some kind of soft surface with a blanket draped over him. He opened his eyes slowly, and stared vacantly at the rough stone ceiling. Inside the fort, he assumed. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead.

He didn't seem to be in a prison, which he was sure the fort had. Rather, it was a small room with a single bedside table and a single window. He could easily fit out of the window, or kick down the door once he'd regained his strength. He wasn't even restrained. He thanked mercy that he'd given Gist explicit instructions not to come looking for him unless he didn't return for a full five days. He didn't want the men to risk their lives. The sound of the lock on the door opening with a metallic click brought Shay's thoughts to a halt. Immediately, he feigned sleep. It wasn't like he could move anyway.

"Idiot." Liam. ...But it just _couldn't_ be. Uncertainly, Shay opened his eyes and looked up at the man standing above him.

"...How..?" Shay choked on his words and coughed. His throat felt dry and he struggled to remain conscious.

"Shut up and don't try to move. There's still some o' the poison in your body." Liam said, pressing a cool, damp cloth to his forehead. "The fever should pass, but it'll take some time." Shay shivered and tried to pull away, but didn't have the strength.

"Kill me." Shay wheezed.

"No. I... I can't. I just can't. If I could have, you would be dead already. I told these louts you're just an agent workin' uncover for us. They all feel right foolish for tryin' to kill you. They damn near did, too. You're lucky I'm the only one here who knows you." Liam heaved a sigh and tucked Shay's blankets in a little tighter. Shay managed to bite back an incoherent comment about making his own luck.

"I survived the fall in the arctic." He said after a few moments spent in tense silence. "Achilles' men found me, and carried both o' us back to the ship. It took months, but I was on my feet again. But after what happened there... We went our separate ways. I still believe in the Assassins, but I think Achilles lost sight o' what that really meant years ago. So I left, and decided to rebuild the brotherhood on my own. I don't care what the Templars do for the most part. We can accomplish more if we actually focus on fixin' what's wrong with society instead o' wastin' time and resources chasin' you lot around the world. From what I've seen, maybe you were right... I don't necessarily agree with your methods, but you're not the lot o' bastards Achilles would've had us believe."

"Shay, I'm sorry... After Lisbon, I shouldn't have..."

"No. Don't." Shay mumbled.

"Listen, when you're back on your feet in a couple o' hours... I'll let you leave. Leave us in peace here. If you stay out of our affairs, we'll stay out of yours. I have no idea what led you here, but my men haven't been to the colonies in over a year." Liam explained. Shay looked up at him balefully, a million and one questions demanding to be asked. Who was it then? Did he have a traitor among his recruits? Why did he even _care_ if one of Liam's men was a traitor to his cause? ...And why did he want so badly for the man to scoop him up in his arms and hold him close? He had let go. He had Haytham now. There was no turning back. Dashing these thoughts from his mind, Shay realized that Liam was actually still speaking to him.

"I can point you in the right direction, though. I don't know if it's the same group that led you here, but I know who was responsible for the attack on Fort Baie Rouge. It's actually a group o' smugglers. They used to work for Le Chasseur. From what intelligence I've been able to gather, they have their sights set on control o' Boston's harbor. We ran them out o' their base here a few months ago, but they're well-funded and I have no idea where they're operatin' from now. Anyway, get some rest. If you want to know more about the smugglers, come find me when you're on your feet. If not... No one will stand in your way when you leave." Liam stood stiffly and left. Shay watched him go, and considered his options.

Perhaps they could be allies. Haytham had entertained that very idea, but the Assassins preferred skulking around in the shadows killing off the Order one by one rather than talking it out like men. Liam once had scoffed at Shay for mentioning it, reminding him that the Templars desired control over all mankind. Maybe back in Europe they did, but Haytham and the others were just trying to survive. ...And what was Haytham's end game, really? Shay didn't know. He never really thought about it. But, ultimate power? That was unlikely. He wasn't ruthless enough; he wasn't Reginald Birch. Haytham was efficient to a fault, and rarely let anything get in his way, but he'd _never_ slaughter a man's family just to get a dusty old book. He'd find what he needed another way, or just steal the damned thing with only as much bloodshed as was absolutely necessary. Haytham wouldn't kill innocents. Shay knew that much, given the way he'd reacted when he told them what the gangs in Manhattan had done to the families that refused to aid them and didn't have the money to pay them off.

Either way, he'd have to have a coherent discussion with Liam. He knew he shouldn't trust him, but by God he wished he could...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totty-head - idiot


	20. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the year this is taking place in is 1764... Which makes Connor 8 years old. I apologize for destroying timelines, because I definitely have. Eh, it's canon divergent anyway sooo... *shrugs*

It took the murder of a gunsmith that Pitcairn had commissioned for his personal arms for Haytham to find any leads. With the scene of the crime still fresh, he was able to put some of the pieces together. The work was sloppy, the small shop left in disarray. The killer obviously wasn't skilled in any form of stealth, which was consistent with what Shay had reported about the massacre of the _Sussex's_ crew. There was obviously a struggle. It seemed unlikely that the attacker was actually looking for anything, but clearly he hadn't been able to take his victim without a fight. The motive, however, was without question.

The young family that lived upstairs from the shop told Haytham that they'd heard shouting and crashing coming from below in the night. When they looked out the window after it went quiet, they saw a man with dark skin wearing a white hood leave. His clothes were bloodied and he walked with a limp, they said. It matched the description of an Assassin, yes, but Haytham had his doubts. This just wasn't what their work looked like. Shay hadn't suspected the Assassins in the slightest for the killings in New York. He had told them that the work was too sloppy. A trained Assassin did not leave destruction in his wake, only the dead bodies of enemies that never saw them coming. ...And _untrained_ Assassins did not carry out assignments. Both of these things, Haytham knew. He studied an unsightly bloodstain on the wooden surface of the gunsmith's worktable. The man had been decapitated, or so the authorities told him. But he'd also been stabbed enough times to look like he'd been through a meat grinder. Haytham made a quiet sound of disgust and turned his back on the workshop.

The killer had left through the front door, which was exactly how he'd broken in. Again, not the work of a proper Assassin – not when there several large, easily accessible windows and a door into the shop that was invisible to the family living above. Haytham looked around carefully for any kind of trail to follow. There was none. But it just seemed wrong, like he wasn't seeing the whole picture... He thought of Shay's uncanny ability to sense danger. Haytham was more than capable of using the sixth sense the Assassins referred to as eagle vision, but for Shay it seemed effortless. He would see something here, Haytham knew it. For him, though, he saw only a dusty cobblestone road that led back into town from the one lone building in the middle of a clearing of dense woodland. He had to focus. There had to be _something_ that could lead him in the right direction.

Taking a deep breath, Haytham stepped out from the shade of the roof that overhung the front door to the shop. There were still some spots of blood visible on the ground nearby, but he knew from before that the trail only carried on for another ten feet or so. Absently he followed it, his boots sinking slightly into the ground that was still moist from the snow that had melted, exposing withered grass. Footprints, Haytham thought to himself and knelt on the ground. Now knowing what he was looking for, he easily found a trail leading into the woods with the aid of the eagle sight. Under the thick canopy of the trees, however, the ground was still dry and the trail faded.

"Bollocks." Haytham muttered, studying his new surroundings. There was no sign that the woods had been disturbed at all recently. He felt a pang of irritation as he realized that Shay probably would have a blade at the suspect's throat by now. They both had their own skill sets, and hunting men like trophy game wasn't Haytham's strong suit. If nothing else, the idea of Shay handling any of the Order's political affairs was laughable. It was probably the only reason the whole situation didn't strike a mortal blow to Haytham's pride. Still, failure was not an option.

He bent down and brushed aside some of the brittle fallen leaves that blanketed the forest floor. It revealed nothing other than loamy, half frozen soil. Irritably, Haytham looked skyward. If Shay were here, he could climb into the trees and – Haytham swore under his breath. Again, another shortcoming. He never did quite master the art of free running in the trees the way Shay could. Perhaps he'd ask him to teach him how. But for right now, he needed another way. Through the trees, he could make out a stone outcropping that overlooked a steep cliff. It was better than nothing. With some effort, Haytham scaled it and balanced on the edge like a cat might. All he could see were more trees, and a small herd of deer grazing in a meadow directly below him. The edge of town was visible as well, but it wouldn't have made sense for the killer to go back that way. Regardless, Haytham couldn't fathom any reason the trail should be so hard to follow. The target was anything but an expert. ...Unless he _wanted_ it to look that way. He was just about to turn back, when the sound of something rustling in the brush caught his ears.

He engaged his hidden blade and stood in silence, waiting. Half expecting one of the Assassins' stalkers to burst out of the shrubs, he was taken utterly by surprise when a young boy crawled out of them instead. His eyes met Haytham's and went wide. He stared vacantly, as if paralyzed by fear.

"Where are your parents?" Haytham asked, frowning. He wondered if the child could even speak English. He doubted it. He was obviously one of the local natives, judging by his hand sewn leather clothing and tanned skin. Something about him seemed familiar. Haytham could swear he'd seen this child before, yet he knew he never had. He didn't answer though, he took off like a startled rabbit and vanished into the trees, climbing them like a little howler monkey. Not even Shay would have been able to keep up with him to save his life. Haytham shook his head and hopped back down off the rocky outcropping.

Admitting defeat for the time being, Haytham wandered along the road back into town. If nothing else, he had learned _something._ The attacker was likely of African or native heritage, and most likely an Assassin. ...Which made very little sense, because as far Haytham was aware, the Assassins had been eradicated in the colonies thanks to Shay's work.

It was the sound of screams that brought Haytham back to reality. Quickly he ran down the path, throwing himself behind a large tree just in time to stay out of sight of the group of redcoats before him. Two of them were dead on the ground, bleeding out from slashed throats. Two more of them were wounded and hanging back from the man that was obviously in charge of the patrol. Edging out from his hiding place for a better view, Haytham saw that he had the native child he'd encountered earlier shoved up a tree with his pistol to his head. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Haytham pounced out from behind the tree and silently dispatched the two wounded guards. Their leader didn't have the faintest clue what was coming when he fell to the ground with Haytham's sword through his gut. He was dead before he hit the dirt.

"What happened here?" Haytham asked the child.

"They attacked me. I fought back." The child replied in perfect English. Haytham was a little unnerved by the way he glared at him. He'd just seen him slaughter three men without batting an eyelash, but he only regarded Haytham with a cold indifference.

"Did you provoke them?" Haytham inquired, taking a step forward cautiously. He doubted the kid could harm him if he wanted to, but he didn't want to have to hurt a child. Regardless, to have killed two armed soldiers who apparently made the first move... The waif of a boy knew how to defend himself. Haytham would have to give him that.

"How do you mean by that?" He answered, giving Haytham a questioning glance. All right, not quite perfect English, Haytham thought to himself.

"Where are your parents?" Haytham asked, repeating the same question from earlier.

"Have none." He said flatly.

"Is your village nearby? I would see you home safely." Haytham suggested.

The child shook his head and looked toward the outskirts of Boston visible. "I need to find someone there."

Against his better judgment, Haytham kicked one of the bodies over the edge of the cliff. It would be at least a few days before anyone found them. "I'll help you, I suppose. You'll just find yourself trouble carrying on like this." He said and dragged another body over the edge. Catching on, the child pushed the other two down as well.

"What should I call you?" Haytham asked, brushing dirt from his clothes. He had better things to do than babysit, but for all he knew the little native boy might lead him right to the killer. He had nothing else to go on, after all.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton." The boy answered.

"...Right. I am not even going to attempt to pronounce that. I'm sure I cannot manage it." Haytham grumbled. "Who do you need to find and why?"

"Father." The boy said quietly. "I only know that he was from here."

"And what do you intend to do when you find him? Have you never met him? How will you know him?" Haytham pressed, letting Ratonhnhaké:ton lead the way. He kept his hand firmly on his sword hilt and his eyes fixed on the child that knew full well how to make good use of his small stone dagger.

Ratonhnhaké:ton looked back over his shoulder at Haytham with a frown. "Don't know." He mumbled. "Do you know Charles Lee?" Haytham nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Who?"

"Charles Lee. I'm going to kill him." Ratonhnhaké:ton said, his voice full of undisguised hatred.

"Hmph. Get in line." Haytham replied, thinking of Shay and the way his fingers had a tendency to twitch in the general direction of his various weapons when he was left alone in a room for more than two minutes alone with Charles. "Why, though? Did someone – Bollocks!" Haytham muttered and grabbed Ratonhnhaké:ton by the back of his shirt. He made an undignified squeaking sound and reached for his dagger. Haytham easily disarmed him and shoved him behind a pile of firewood beside them. If nothing else, at least he had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

"Benjamin," Haytham said cordially, as his least favorite associate approached.

"Did you find anything?" Church asked, glaring daggers at Haytham. "I'm afraid I've come up with nothing but a good load of cock and bull. I doubt it's the Assassins, though. Too sloppy, no real motive."

"I concur. There is one thing I need to check on, then I will meet you back at the Green Dragon." Haytham said in clear dismissal. Church looked as though he might refuse for a second and thought better of it. Haytham watched him go, and found himself questioning Benjamin's loyalty for far from the first or last time. He was a selfish, wealth motivated bastard. As long as he was paid, and paid well, Haytham knew he could be trusted. But what if their enemies came along and gave him a better offer? No, he only trusted Church about as far as Shay trusted Charles. Which was to say, not at all.

"Why do you want to find Charles Lee? Is he your father?" Haytham asked, prodding Ratonhnhaké:ton out of his hiding spot.

"No. He burnt my village, and killed my mother. I was younger then. But now I'm going to kill him." It sent shivers down Haytham's spine to hear a child speak speak like this, yet... Was he any different? Was this what his mother had felt when she saw him commit his first murder the night Birch's men had attacked? Still... Charles burning a native village? When, and more importantly _why_ , would he have done that? A sound nearby made Ratonhnhaké:ton stop in his tracks and observe his surroundings carefully. Something about the way he behaved seemed oddly familiar to Haytham.

"Why did you stop following?" He asked, turning to face Haytham. He looked into his eyes for a moment, and recognition hit him hard enough to render him utterly speechless.

"What was your mother's name?" Haytham asked hesitantly, shooting a warning glance in the direction of a red coat who was reaching for his pistol with his eyes set on Ratonhnhaké:ton. He glared daggers at Haytham and went on his way.

"Kaniehtí:io." Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, giving Haytham an odd, searching stare.

"...Shite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cock and bull – Bullshit


	21. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring tissues. All the angst. And don't worry, Connor's reason for leaving his village and all will be explained in due time. (because obviously it's a little different from canon)
> 
> Warning: There's some mentions of suicidal thoughts/depression in this chapter. Because Shay is just a hot, steaming mess of angst.

Shay made it back to Boston in record time. When they finally arrived, he was relatively sure the _Morrigan's_ crew was at least a tiny bit mutinous for how hard he'd pushed them to get there as fast as physically possible. Poor Gist had the look of a rabid animal about him, and Liam obviously was anything but appreciative of Shay's foul attitude. It was panic, mostly. Sheer, mindless panic. He'd never admit it, even though Gist probably knew his behavior well enough by now to recognize the signs. Liam did too, Shay assumed – considering their history which they had avoided discussing like the plague. He had no idea how to broach the subject of his relationship with Haytham, either. Somehow, Gist had kept his mouth shut. It was Shay's problem, and he was utterly ashamed of the fact that he didn't have the stones to tell Liam that was seeing someone new after all that happened. Maybe it was just that it was _Haytham_. He nearly rammed the _Morrigan's_ bow into the docks and was sprinting across the warped wooden boards before Gist even thought to call out the order to drop anchor.

"Bloody _idiot_ ," Liam muttered under his breath and grabbed the wheel just in time to avoid Shay having to pay the authorities to rebuild the docks. He caught up effortlessly and grabbed Shay by the back of his coat, causing him to stumble and swear vehemently.

"So who is it, Shay? The only time I ever saw you lose your marbles like this was when we were together, and that lout from the Tavern was threatenin' to have me sent to boardin' school for savin' your arse from his buddies." Liam asked, giving Shay a knowing glance.

'When we were together.' It felt strange to hear those words. Past tense, yes. It was over, what they'd shared. With some compromise maybe they could rebuild their friendship, but never that. Shay knew that. And yet... At least Liam had agreed to help for the time being, as their interests were aligned. Shay sighed in frustration and kicked the wall of a fisherman's stand near them. He could feel Liam's eyes on him. "Haytham." He said flatly.

"...The Grand Master? Kenway? Christ, Shay. Of all the stupid things you've done... At least the man has a nice arse." Liam groaned and rolled his eyes. "Though, now I know why you're havin' such a fit. I said he's one of their targets, aye. He's not a priority, well he _wasn't_ but I reckon he's stuck his nose in their affairs by now and they'll want rid o' him. Right, where do we find your sweetheart?"

"Damn it, Liam. Don't call him my-"

"...Shay?"

Both men instinctively grabbed their pistols and whirled around in a movement far too synchronized to be entirely random. Shay sighed in relief and shoved his back in holster upon seeing Haytham with Charles at his side. Charles had his arms full of a stack of boxes and had that sour look of a man dragged along on a shopping trip with his wife plastered across his face. The thing that got Shay's attention, however, was the native child at Haytham's other side that kept shooting Charles murderous glares and was obviously struggling not to grab the stone dagger that he had shoved into his boot. Well, whoever he was, at least they already agreed on something.

"Thank God. I was sure you were walking into a trap. You will have to fill us on the details." Haytham said, giving him a small nod and shooing Charles away like he was some kind of scullery maid. Liam was obviously struggling not to smirk too obviously at Charles' retreating form.

"Never mind me, you're in for it. It en't the Assassins. It don't even have to do with that battle. It's all politics." Shay explained, suddenly tired beyond all reason. He didn't care about anything else right now. Haytham was alive and well. Nothing else mattered.

"Politics?" He asked curiously.

"They're smugglers." Liam explained, giving Shay a glare that was equal parts exasperation and well-guarded fondness. "Opium, mostly. They see the colonies as a rich opportunity t'get their fingers in the Crown's pie as far the export business here goes. They're well funded and ruthless. They've been offin' everyone who gets in their way, and you Templars just happen t'be on their shite list on account o' you lot bein' allies with the British. Bein' neck deep in politics en't helping neither."

"Aye. Remember a couple o' months back when Charles tracked that group o' smugglers thinkin' they were Assassins?" Shay explained sheepishly. "If I had o' taken it seriously, well, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation since their leaders were all in that soddin' tavern that day."

"Bollocks," Haytham grumbled. "Any way I should..." He looked down at the native boy that was still standing beside him. He looked bored, but somewhat less like a surly, wild beast now that Charles had left his vicinity. Shay could hardly fault him for that.

"What?" Shay asked, cocking his head to the side in a questioning gesture.

"You remember Ziio; you met her once." Haytham said cryptically.

"More than once, Aye. What about her?"

"We... Shay, we need to have a talk. Also, who is your new associate?" Haytham explained, changing the subject in an instant.

"Really? Is he serious? Shay, is he?" Liam cried, and shook his head. Granted, he was wearing simple traveling clothes instead of his Assassin robes in order to maintain a low profile, but _still_.

"Oh. You're... _You._ You bloody shot me!" Haytham snapped, and Shay laughed so hard at the scandalized look on both of their faces that he nearly fell over. He'd almost forgotten that he hadn't been the only one who'd left that god forsaken spit of ice with a few bullet holes. Liam had only managed to sink one shot in Haytham, though, in his thigh. Enough to slow him down, but not to do any real damage.

"You deserved it. And you shot Achilles, who deserves a hell o' a lot more punishment than a bad leg and a ruined ego." Liam retorted. "Regardless, our interests are aligned for the time bein'. Those bastards killed a lot o' innocent people to try and drive my men out o' Anticosti because they wanted it for a base. We slaughtered most o' them, but they're not t'be underestimated. We're the better killers, aye, but they've got money, friends in high places and it'll be too late by the time you see them comin'. No matter what, I'm always two steps behind them."

"And after this is dealt with?" Haytham demanded, giving Liam that patent icy glare which he didn't wither under in the slightest.

"We go our separate ways, and never speak unless the need arises. No offense t'you, but you're the last people I have any reason to get drunk and whine about old times with – The Grand Master o' the Templars and the traitor and who's managed to kill everyone I've ever given a shite about. This is business, let's not get sentimental." Liam replied in a flat, authoritative tone. Shay somehow managed to keep his expression blank, but on the inside he felt like he was dying. They'd already had this conversation, he and Liam. He'd hoped they could be allies, but Liam was (understandably) bitter about their blood-soaked past. He'd agreed with Shay in the end, about the pieces of Eden and Achilles' lack of caution, but he'd never work with the Templars. He'd stay out of their business, since he was more concerned with the political mess in France, but he would _never_ work with the Templars otherwise. He'd made that painfully clear.

"Good enough." Haytham agreed. "Speak with Catherine at the inn; tell her I sent you. She will get you a room." Without another word, Liam went on his way leaving Shay alone with Haytham and the child that hadn't said a single word the entire time.

"What's your name, kid?" Shay asked, kneeling down to eye level. He was a slip of a thing, but something in his eyes told Shay that he knew damn well how to fight – just like he had even at that age.

" Ratonhnhaké:ton." He answered, studying Shay like he was some kind of wild beast. He liked kids, honestly. They were curious, passionate and most of them still believed there was some damned good left in the world. This one though... It was like looking in a mirror back to his own childhood. There was uncertainty, violence, and years far beyond his age in Ratonhnhaké:ton's eyes.

"Well, Ratonhnhaké:ton, it's nice t'meet you. Though, I'm willin' to bet this one can't say your name to save his life. Or, well, most anyone around here. ...How about we call you Connor?" Shay suggested and ruffled his hair. Connor? Why had that been the first name to come to mind? He thought of the rainy afternoon when they'd buried little Connor Davenport and the weight of his past threatened to crush him.

"I like him." Ratonhnhaké:ton said and gave Haytham a faint smile.

"Good. You'll be seeing a lot of him." Haytham said and steered 'Connor' back in the direction of the Green Dragon. Shay followed, lost in his thoughts and wanting for nothing more than to be snuggled up to Haytham in bed. ...Which was unlikely to happen because Catherine would ask questions and Haytham wouldn't want to contend with Church's disapproval. Irritably he balled his hands into fists and resigned himself to however many lonely, sleepless nights it would take to put an end to the smugglers.

* * *

Shay lay awake in his his bed some time later. He could still hear the others talking on the other side of the door, their voices muffled but still discernible. Connor was sitting on the chair in the corner, reading a book upside down. Or, at least he thought he was. It turned out that he really liked Shay, and stuck to him like tar. Shay didn't mind. He was good company, even if he still had no idea why Haytham had apparently adopted a little Native boy that apparently had something to do with Ziio. Shay sat up and looked over at him. He'd slumped over and fallen fast asleep with his cheek resting on the side of the small table next to him. He imagined Haytham dragging him into his lap and teaching him how to read properly, which brought a smile to his face in spite of his mental anguish. Shay never was one for books, but Haytham would probably have an ulcer if he'd seen the way Connor handled them. Quietly, he left the room, careful not to wake the sleeping child.

The others had long since gone off to bed. Only Thomas was still awake, with his hands halfway up Catherine's skirt as she giggled and handed him another tankard of ale. Shay rolled his eyes and paused outside of Haytham's room on his way to the stairs. He reached up to knock, but stopped himself. Somehow, he found the willpower to descend the stairs. Catherine's brother, whose name Shay couldn't remember to save his own life, was cleaning up behind the bar.

"Want one for the road? You look like you need it, Shay." He asked and grabbed a bottle of ale from under the counter. Shay wordlessly caught it when he tossed it his way and thanked him.

He felt pathetic, drinking alone on a rooftop near the docks and wondering what way was up. Finding Liam alive had thrown him for a loop. Knowing that trying to fix things between them was impossible was smothering the life out of him. Nights like this, he knew, he should be with Haytham. In fact, the Grand Master would probably be furious that he'd run off in the night to sulk instead of seeking him out. It was working, having Haytham for some sort of moral support. Little by little, he was learning to live again. Not now, though. Now he half hoped the scaffolding behind him would fall and put an end to it all. Sometimes he wished he had the courage, or stupidity to do it himself. No, thoughts like that wouldn't do him a lick of good. He hurled the empty ale bottle in the ocean and curled up on himself, resting his head on his knees.

"Why is it that I always find you sulking on random rooftops when you run off? You are like a cat. Sometimes I wonder if you are actually stuck, but would rather starve to death up here than admit it." Shay bit back a groan and tried his damnedest to hide the state of utter misery he was in as Haytham settled down beside him.

"So, Liam is alive." Haytham pressed when Shay ignored him, and he continued to do so. Haytham sighed irritably and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Shay's cheek. Like some kind of sad broken child, he rested his head on Haytham's shoulder. "Shay? ...Are you drunk?"

Finally, he gave in. "No. Just... I can't." He shook his head, wondering if maybe he _was_ a little drunk. "Sometimes I just want to die. It seems like the only way to make all the pain stop."

"I know it's rather pointless to tell you not to think such things. It's not that simple. Nothing is with the lives we lead." Haytham said and took Shay's hand in his. "But, this is a good thing. You're actually _talking_ about it now."

"I don't see what difference it makes." Shay mumbled half-heartedly.

"It makes all the difference." Haytham explained gently. "Truth be told, my not finishing off Braddock wasn't really the reason Ziio left me. It was because she was fed up with the fact that I was a paranoid, arrogant princock who wouldn't even trust the woman I claimed to love. The last thing she said to me, was that she hoped I would learn the value of such trust one day. Or, frankly, I will die miserable and alone."

"And you think we have that?" Shay asked skeptically.

"I think we're getting there." Haytham replied, chuckling. "...Slowly."

"Says the man who won't have any part o' lettin' me take the reigns in the bedroom." Shay snapped a little more tartly than he meant to. The brief flash of uncertainty bordering on fear that passed over Haytham's usually unreadable expression did not escape Shay's notice.

"Trust works both ways, y'know." Shay said when Haytham didn't answer.

"I trust you, but I do not really want to do that." Haytham said, but without any conviction.

"No, that isn't it. You're afraid I'll hurt you, but you'll let it happen just to spite yourself because you're more prideful than a fuckin' peacock." Shay retorted.

"Fine. Next time, you can -"

"See? What did I just get done sayin'? No, because that isn't trust, it's you being afraid to admit that somethin' scares you." Shay argued pointedly. Haytham made a quiet sound of annoyance and shifted uncomfortably. "You want me to pour my heart out whenever somethin' upsets me, but God forbid I ask the same o' you."

The silence that followed was anything but pleasant. After what felt like an eternity, Haytham finally let out a sigh of utter defeat. "Correct, on all accounts." He admitted, shamefully. "Don't forget, the last person I truly trusted turned out to be the man who murdered my father and sold my sister into slavery."

"True, so what exactly are you afraid of?" Shay inquired.

"Can we not talk about this?"

"No, but we can save it for another day if you want." Shay suggested and hopped down from the rooftop without waiting for a reply. He could feel Haytham watching him as he made his way through the streets, and silently cursed the ignorant fools back at the Inn. If it weren't for the very high likelihood that their involvement wouldn't sit well with the others, Shay would be sharing a bed with Haytham rather than little Connor. ...Little Connor who'd already witnessed at least one nightmare that evening - and the inevitable meltdown that had followed before Shay decided that he needed some air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boarding school – I already used this, but it's slang for prison. ...Which was not a nice place to be in the 18th century.
> 
> Princock – A guy who thinks with his dick, mostly.


	22. Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn, basically. *cough* This chapter is NSFW.

Haytham woke to the sound of Thomas and Benjamin arguing over something in the morning paper. Annoyed, he rolled over in bed and shoved the pillow over his head to drown out the noise. He'd rather wake up to Shay snoring and drooling on his shoulder than those two bitching about politics. As far as he knew, Thomas didn't even understand politics that didn't involve passing a few free counterfeit pounds into the right hands. He hoped to God Liam and Weeks' night of scouting bore some fruit so this could be over with. Either way, he still hadn't told Shay that Connor was his son. It was a strange feeling, finding out that he was a father. But it was... Nice. Ziio must not have spoken too harshly of him, as Connor followed his every footstep – desperate to be closer to him. He hoped he wouldn't disappoint him. He didn't speak much, and refused to say why he left his people. But if his tactics had worked with getting Shay to open up, then he figured it would only be a matter of time until Connor told him his story.

Haytham cringed, thinking of the previous night's conversation with Shay. He'd have to get out of bed sometime and face him. It was a good question, though. One he'd thought long and hard about before passing out from exhaustion. What was he afraid of? That it would be painful? Ridiculous. No, it was something deeper. Something subconscious. ...Like it would make him less of a men or something. Miserably, he dragged himself out of bed and got dressed.

Shay was alone with Connor at the table where they held their meetings. Connor was excitedly drawing on a scrap of paper, trying to explain the Natives' tales of how humans came to be. It was a story Shay undoubtedly knew by heart, given the time he'd spent with the Oneida. Haytham knew he still visited their village when he had the time. Shay just let Connor talk, though, as if it were all something new to him.

"Good morning." Haytham said stiffly and sat beside Shay. He wordlessly passed Haytham a tea biscuit. Connor watched them both with interest, and frowned.

"Are you mad at father?" He asked Shay. Shay froze, his own biscuit halfway to his mouth.

"Father?!"

"Well, I -"

"When were you goin' to tell me this?"

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of Thomas (who was already drunk at ten in the morning) swearing at an equally intoxicated redcoat down at the bar below. "We were dealing with something a tad bit more important last night." Haytham finally replied.

"...Fair enough. And no, Connor. I'm not mad at your father." He assured him and patted him on the head. "I'm just, well, hurtin' a bit on the inside but that's not his fault."

"Tell me whose fault it is." Connor demanded fiercely.

"Remind me to stay on your good side, Little One." Shay said, laughing. Connor, if nothing else, had a good sense for judging character. He avoided Church like the plague, clung to Shay and warily respected all the others. ...Except for Charles. Thankfully, it hadn't been Charles' who'd burnt the village. Haytham had been able to get the whole story, after talking with the others. It was Washington's men. Charles, William and Benjamin had unfortunately been unable to get in their way in time to save the village. Connor had been playing in the woods with some of the other children at the time, and managed to run across Charles rather than Washington's men. So, naturally, he blamed Charles.

"Stay here at the Inn, Connor. Shay and I have work to do." Haytham said, getting up from the table. Shay grumbled something under his breath and followed.

"I want to help!" Connor demanded, pouting.

"Knowin' your father I'll be spendin' my afternoon hidin' bodies." Shay told him, shaking his head. "Best you stay here where it's safe and don't trust anythin' Catherine tries to feed you."

* * *

"This don't seem much like work." Shay commented as he sat down in the chair in front of his desk in the _Morrigan's_ cabin. Haytham had already occupied the chair behind it like he owned the place. A couple of the crewmen were milling about on deck just to make sure she wasn't left unguarded, but otherwise the Phantom Queen was deserted.

"It's not, not really. There's simply no other place I can think of in this damned city that I can be alone with you for five minutes." Haytham groused and turned to face Shay. "About last night... You are right. I don't think I actually know how trust works. Which is entirely the reason I tried to end this before I inevitably wind up hurting you like I do everyone else."

"Not this shite again, Haytham." Shay growled. "We're goin' to make mistakes, aye, but that's no reason to give up."

"I did _not_ say that; I have no intention of doing that now. On the contrary, what we spoke of before..." Haytham paused, searching for the words. Rehearsing this in his head had been infinitely easier. Absently, he fiddled with the catch on his hidden blade and looked up to meet Shay's eyes. "I am inclined to lock that door and let you have your way with me."

"Christ, no. I'm not doin' that so you can pretend it's trust when you really just don't want to admit it scares you." Shay replied irritably.

"It is not that; I am not afraid. Well, not of the act itself. I think... I think I have been a part of a society that views such relations as an unforgivable sin for too long. On one hand, I could not care less. On the other, I have this sort of subconscious disgust that's been driven into me for years. I am not proud to admit it, but honestly the idea of submitting to a man utterly repulses me – yet there is no good reason I can think of that it should. ...Only that it is 'wrong'." Haytham told him uncertainly. "I can only imagine the beating my father would give me if he knew."

"Good t'know I'm repulsive." Shay said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That is not what I meant! It is just, I do not want – Ia m not a bloody woman!" Haytham complained.

"Is that it? Are you jokin'? You know the boys out there think _you're_ the one takin' it, right? ...And that they all damn well know that you're the one wearin' the pants here? You need to stopping frettin' over nonsense and decide for yourself what feels right. It en't anyone else's business anyway. What does it matter what they think? How would they even know? It's not like I'd walk into the middle o' town and tell everyone I meet that I just fucked you in the arse. They'd probably stone me t'death, or have me hanged. Well, assumin' they could catch me." Shay replied, raising his eyebrows. Haytham sighed and stole a glance at the untouched bottle of whiskey that was sitting on Shay's desk. He wondered if Shay would care if he uncorked it and downed the whole bottle.

"It sounds petty when you put it like that." Haytham said after a while.

"It _is_ petty." Shay muttered in response. "You've never let anyone make your choices for you in anythin' else, so why is this different? Either way, it doesn't matter to me. If you don't want to do it, then don't. I won't make you."

"It is not different. Not at all, really. I never thought about it that way." Haytham realized. ...And how am I to judge whether or not I would enjoy something if I'm not willing to even consider trying it, he added silently to himself. He looked up at Shay who was watching him with concern, and found his resolve. "...I want to try. Right now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He knew he didn't manage to keep the nerves out of his voice, but it seemed good enough for Shay.

"All right, then."

* * *

The moment Shay's lips met his and warm, calloused fingers tangled themselves in his hair, Haytham had a hard time remembering that he was nervous at all. Shay's touch had an intoxicating effect on him, and he found that their short time apart left him utterly starved for it. He sucked in a shaky breath as Shay nipped at a spot on his throat and slipped his shirt down off his shoulders. Suppressing the urge to fight Shay for dominance and pin him to the bed was harder than he thought it would be. Instead, Haytham busied himself with undoing Shay's belt as he trailed hot kisses along his collar bone and hooked his fingers into Haytham's pants, sliding them down his hips. Haytham mumbled something incoherent at the soft contact of Shay's fingers brushing against the scar on his side.

"I'll stop if you want me to."

"Stop, and I'll cut off your cock." Haytham hissed and took him in a heated kiss that tasted faintly of tea laced with liquor. He forced himself to let go of Shay who shoved him up against the wall to regain the upper hand. A loud moan escaped Haytham's lips as Shay bit one of his nipples and nudged his knee into his groin.

"The bed or the desk?" Shay asked huskily, rubbing his thumb over the head of Haytham's cock that was throbbing with need.

"Bed." Haytham breathed, and gasped in surprise as Shay shoved him down into it and pinned him him down with his hips before he got the chance to think of finding himself on top of Shay.

"Stop fightin' me and relax." Shay told him and caressed Haytham's chest with light touches that left him writhing and panting for breath.

"Sorry, force of habit." Haytham said truthfully, and nearly choked on the words as Shay teasingly licked just the tip of his length. The forgotten apprehension returned in full force as he heard Shay reach for the small bottle of oil on the bedside table. He tried not to let it show as he felt Shay kiss him softly just below the navel and slide his oil slicked fingers between his legs. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until Shay reminded him to breathe. It felt strange, but not entirely unpleasant as Shay prodded at his entrance gently and wrapped his other hand around Haytham's cock. He let his eyes flutter closed and bit his lip as Shay pressed his finger deeper inside. It was uncomfortable, he decided, but not painful. Shay stroked him slowly, reducing Haytham to a moaning, needy mess of desire and he didn't even notice as Shay inserted a second finger. What he _did_ notice was the shock of overwhelming sensation that spread through him as Shay's fingers brushed the spot he was looking for. Haytham arched his back and mewled like a cat in heat as Shay repeatedly stroked his prostate.

Haytham didn't even remember his own name by the time Shay withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock. He choked on a moan, twisting his fingers into the sheets as Shay slowly pushed his way inside. Now it hurt a bit, but he knew it would. Shay had warned him, after all. It wasn't a bad sort of pain, though. He just felt full, and stretched a little too far. Shay buried himself to the hilt and pulled Haytham close, running his fingers through his hair. He pressed a soft kiss to Shay's shoulder and rested his hands on his hips. It didn't take long to adjust to the new feeling as Shay moved, carefully at first. He knew what he was doing, though. Haytham was a helpless mess of need after just a few thrusts. He let his head fall back against the pillow and trailed his hands across Shay's muscled abdomen. He fell into a steady, even rhythm careful not to be too rough with Haytham.

Shay smoothed Haytham's hair out of his flushed face and kissed him deeply. He held onto Shay's hips for dear life, convinced he was going to drown in the intensity of the pleasure that washed through him with each thrust. Just when he thought he might burst, Shay wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked him in time with his thrusts. Haytham's eyes rolled back in his head and he brokenly begged Shay to take him harder, not even aware of the words as they left his mouth. He didn't need to, though. A soft nip on on the sensitive skin behind his ear and a gentle squeeze of his length was all it took to send Haytham over the edge. It felt like he might literally melt into Shay as he kept up his steady pace, riding out Haytham's climax until he reached his own with a strangled gasp. Haytham took a shaky breath, reveling at the sensation of the heat of Shay's release inside of him. Shay slowly pulled out, and kissed Haytham softly on the forehead.

"Well?" Shay asked, nuzzling his face into Haytham's hair. "...Haytham?" If it weren't for the thinly veiled note of panic in Shay's voice, he might have kept ignoring him. Instead he rolled over, pinned Shay hard to the bed, and kissed him until they both nearly suffocated.

"Enough! You did not break me, Shay." He said quietly. "In fact, I rather enjoyed it."

"Sir, I -"

"For the love of God, stop bloody talking. You are ruining the moment. _Again_." Haytham groused and settled down beside him. "We do still have work to do, though..."

"Now who's ruinin' the damned moment..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's no archaic slang in this chapter. I'm a little disappointed in myself. :c


	23. The Search

"So, do you have any actual leads on the smugglers' presence in Boston? Liam thinks they're holin' up here, but he doesn't know where." Shay asked as he and Haytham wandered along the docks. It was as good a place as any to start looking for information – a hub of activity occupied by people from all walks of life.

"Not really, we suspect they are behind a few killings of our business contacts. That's all though. Witnesses to one of the murders, Pitcairn's gunsmith, described a dark-skinned man in a white hood leaving the scene but he didn't leave a trail." Haytham explained.

"He did, probably, just not one you lot would o' been able to track. ...No offense, o' course, Sir." Shay replied, biting back a comment about the slight limp in Haytham's step. He was already cranky about the lack of actual evidence they had to go on, it wouldn't do to joke about how he'd manage to sit through the inevitable meeting later and keep a straight face.

"Why is Liam so hell-bent on destroying a band of smugglers? They may pose a real threat to the colonial economy, but that does not seem to concern him." Haytham commented and barely dodged a large sailor as he stumbled drunkenly on his way. Shay sighed wearily and watched a group of women that were most likely whores as they catcalled at a motley group of sailors disembarking a British schooner.

"He had his base in Anticosti, and the smugglers actually used to work for him – sort o' like Thomas' contacts with the black market here." Shay explained, the painful memory of the carnage they'd left behind still fresh in his mind. "They turned on the Assassins, and burnt a good part o' the fort to the ground. It was where the women and children lived, along with some farmers and merchants. All of them were civilians, and none o' them made it out." Shay could swear he smelled the putrid odor of burnt flesh still lingering in the air when he visited that part of the island after Liam recounted the story to him. It was a horrid sight – four buildings that were naught but burnt out husks. And then there were the graves, all freshly dug in a neat row in the center of the fort's large courtyard for the bodies that they _could_ recover.

"Why turn on them, though?" Haytham pondered and motioned for Shay to follow him down a small side-street.

"They weren't makin' enough coin playin' nice. A lot o' them were originally pirates anyway – entirely money motivated. Tell me about the murder you investigated, though. It sounds like an Assassin, but what d'you think?" Shay replied. It felt oddly surreal, the comfortable familiarity between them as they strolled through the busy streets of Boston hoping to catch any lead they could.

"It wasn't an Assassin. Rather, I believe someone went to great lengths to make us believe it was. It was too sloppy. Blood everywhere, the shop in disarray... It was not unlike the scene you described from the massacre onboard on the _Sussex_." Haytham told Shay. "I doubt the killer was experienced in the art of murder, nor do I feel that he was looking for anything. Nothing seemed to be missing from the workshop, which was confirmed later by the man's assistant. So why kill an innocent merchant that had very little to do with us other than once selling a pistol to John?"

"Aye, something's off about that all right. Can you show me the place? I doubt there's much t'be seen now, but maybe I'll find somethin' you missed." Shay suggested. It was as good of an idea as any, considering they hand nothing else to go on.

* * *

Shay pushed open the door to the gunsmith's shop with Haytham in tow. A young man sitting at the counter looked up at them curiously when the bells attached to door rang, catching his attention. He regarded Shay with uncertainty that transformed into annoyance when his eyes slid to Haytham.

"Jacob." Haytham said with a cordial nod of his head. "A thousand pardons, but I would like to take another look at the shop."

"It's been cleaned up." The apprentice said tartly. He had the look of an honest, exhausted man who was utterly fed up with his work. Shay decided immediately that Jacob was very unlikely to have any connection to the case.

"Did your boss have any enemies?" Shay asked, cocking his head to side, watching his reaction carefully.

Jacob rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Look, just like I've told the authorities a hundred times – no. Not that I know of anyway. Tom was a very private man, he might've pissed off the wrong varlets in the past, but buggered if I know." Jacob snapped and Shay thanked him politely.

"We'll be out o' your hair in a few, and you'll never hear from us again, you have my word, Sir."

Jacob grumbled to himself, but waved his hand in the direction of the workshop. Shay gave Haytham a questioning glance and he just shrugged. It could be that Jacob was a man easily irritated, but it was also likely that Haytham had tried his patience to the limit when he'd interrogated him after the attack. Shay wouldn't past it him. Haytham was nothing if not ruthless when he wanted answers. He would know.

The shop had indeed been cleaned, there wasn't single speck of blood and all the tools had been neatly stored. It didn't even look like Jacob had been in here. He probably hadn't been, Shay figured. He was probably struggling to come to terms with his boss' violent death and felt uneasy being in there, like any _normal_ human being would. Curiously, Shay brushed a bit of sawdust off one of the worn wooden work benches. His first impression was that it was too late to find anything of any use, but there had to be _something_. Haytham hung back, leaning on the door frame watching as Shay went to work.

There was nothing unusual stored in any of the many cabinets that he rifled through, and there were far too many footprints worn into the hard-packed dirt floor to discern one from the other. With the eagle sense, maybe he could see the steps the attacker had taken, but that would do no good other than giving a Shay an account of the actual attack. What he needed was a motive – hard evidence, not an estimated number of how many times poor Tom had been stabbed in the gullet. Shay knelt down, inspecting the ground. There weren't any signs of anything having been recently buried. Brushing dirt off his pants, he stood and paced the shop as he pictured different scenarios in his mind. He had the strangest nagging feeling that he was missing something. He was aware of Haytham watching him as if in a trance – undressing him with his mind, probably.

"I feel like there's somethin' I'm not seein'. I can't put my finger on it." Shay thought aloud, and ran his hand across the surface of the wall beside him. He tapped three times. It was solid. He turned his attention back to the floor and the assortment of footprints. He could tell which were his, Haytham's, and the ones that were the freshest. Through a quick system of elimination, he guessed which belonged to Tom and his killer. They'd circled the room, maybe having some sort of verbal argument before the attacker lunged at Tom who stumbled backwards into the counter. Shay could see the small scuff marks in the dirt from where the table had moved just slightly from the impact. Tom had been cornered then, and they struggled for a few moments before his trail stopped. There were a few minuscule flecks of dried blood there, staining the ground between the counter and the wall from where it had dripped down the back of it as Tom bleed out. The killer's steps retreated straight to the exit, after pausing near a small writing desk beside the front door.

"Nothin'." Shay muttered, shaking his head. Still, it didn't feel quite right. He rooted through the drawers of the dresser, finding only tax documents and an old sale ledger. He shoved aside a pile of books on top of the desk and pulled it away from the wall slightly to look behind it.

"Ah, Tom you sneaky bastard..." Shay mumbled to himself, finding a patch of the fine wood paneled wall that didn't quite match up with the rest. He knocked lightly on it and was rewarded with a hollow echo. Haytham was back at his side in a flash as Shay carefully pried the false panel loose with the tip of his hidden blade.

"How the bloody hell did you find that?" Haytham asked in disbelief, watching Shay begin to pick the lock on a small metal safe box that was hidden in the hollowed out space in the wall.

"Followin' human footprints en't much different from animals. Luckily, you and Jacob seem t'be the only ones who've been in here since the murder. I wonder why the authorities didn't investigate." Shay commented as the box popped open. Absently he dropped his lockpicks into his pocket and plopped the box down onto the desk.

"I may or may not have intercepted the patrol sent to investigate. ...And told Jacob and his wife, who live upstairs and reported the killing, that I was sent by the authorities to examine the scene." Haytham replied, glaring at Shay as if the answer should have been obvious.

"...Shite. Haytham, they've found a damned precursor site." Shay said in disbelief, holding up a small chunk of black rock. He'd only seen that type of stone in two places, the temple in Lisbon and the ruins in the arctic.

"Bollocks! They have no idea what they're toying with with. Tell me there was nothing else in that box, Shay." Haytham growled.

Shay rolled the bit of stone around in his palm, watching as the light danced across its smooth surface, making it sparkle like little stars in the night sky. He shoved it into one of his pockets and took a closer look at the box. It hadn't been removed from its place in some time, which was obvious by the thick layer of dust covering it and all but the spot where it had been sitting. Shay could see where his fingers had brushed off the dust as he'd handled the box, and where someone else had also recently done the same. "There is probably somethin' missin'." Shay confirmed disgustedly.

"You," He said, shoving the door back open. "Do you know anythin' about this?" Shay inquired, showing Jacob the small metal box and the stone.

"Aye, when I first started as Tom's apprentice as a boy, a man gave him that to pay for a rifle. He'd said that it was worth more than any gold in the world. I didn't know that Tom actually kept it all these years." Jacob replied, handing the stone back to Shay. "There was something else too, though. An old key made out of some sort of black metal, but we never found out what it opened."

"Who gave him this, do you have any idea?" Haytham demanded. "Are they still alive?"

"It was old man Brown. He owns a farm just outside of town. He said the Natives gave him that. Tom thought he was a right tale-teller, but I guess he thought it was worth keeping. I'm sorry, gentlemen, but that's all I know." Jacob replied. "If you'll excuse me, I have to make arrangements to sell the shop. I can't work here anymore... Not after... Well. You know."

"Aye. Best of luck t'you. We'll let you know when we catch the bastard if it'll put you mind at ease." Shay replied, and Haytham followed him out into the fading daylight. "I know that farm. And Haytham, I'm sorry but I can't go there."

"What the... Why not?"

"I may o' once bedded mister Brown's daughter and..." Shay coughed and looked away. "I got caught and I'm about as welcome there as a Frenchman in London."

"...Are you serious?" Shay only smirked and Haytham rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Her name was Molly by the way..."

"I don't care what her name was!"

Shay burst out laughing and clapped Haytham on the shoulder. "You know, she had a right wicked tongue. She gave the best -"

"That is enough!" Shay only laughed harder, and decided it was well worth any punishment imaginable to see Haytham fall into a fit of jealousy over a long-ago affair that had meant utterly nothing to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varlets – Rogues or thieves. Basically a petty criminal
> 
> Gullet – your stomach or guts
> 
> Tale-teller – a bullshit artist


	24. This Won't End Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt like Benjamin Church must have done something or other to royally piss off Haytham, or he probably wouldn't have gotten his ass handed to him the way he did. Or maybe he was just a jerk and had it coming. ...Or both.

"This is idotic. We're chasin' our damned tails." Haytham glared daggers at Liam across the meeting table in the Green Dragon. Shay watched both of them warily, silently hoping he wouldn't have to intervene. Haytham had made his opinion of Shay's choice to accept Liam's assistance rather clear, and Shay knew damn well that he'd take the first opportunity to get rid of what he most likely saw as an obstacle. He's jealous, Shay realized as the two men had the sort of staring contest that children did.

"What is 'idiotic' is the fact that you two are spending more time harping at one another than acting like adults." Benjamin snapped, finally drawing Haytham's scrutiny to himself instead.

"Are you calling me _childish_?" Haytham growled narrowing his eyes.

"For fuck's sake, can we talk about the damn smugglers? You're _all_ actin' like a bunch o' kids." Shay interrupted.

"Damn right y'are." Chimed in Thomas, with a sour look on his face.

"Enough o' this, Shay's right. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can put it behind us and pretend it never happened." Liam added. "Mister Weeks and I didn't find much, but Shay and Haytham did - show them."

Shay stood, pushing his chair out from behind him with a loud scrape. Carefully, he placed a small bundle of cloth in the center of the table. The others watched curiously as he pulled open the loose knot holding the fabric in place.

"What the bloody hell is that, exactly? A rock?" Pitcairn asked incredulously as Shay revealed what appeared to him as a nondescript chunk of stone.

"No wait... That's..." Liam bent forward for a closer look, and saw the way the stone shone like stars in the night sky as the candlelight flashed across its smooth surface. "That stone... It must be from a precursor site!" He said excitedly.

"We've no idea, but if it _is_ from a precursor site then those fools have no idea what they've stumbled upon." Shay replied. "Supposedly it had a key kept with it that was stolen. We don't know much about it, only that it was owned by a farmer by the name of Brown who lives a good ways outside of town."

"Brown?" Liam asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Shall I say hello to Molly for you, Shay?"

"Aye, and if you're up there again I'll remind you to blow off the loose corns with Anne." Shay retorted.

"...How did you remember that? You were so drunk you could hardly stand." Liam grumbled. Thomas, Jack and Ben all stifled a fit of badly concealed mirth.

"Anyway, old Daniel Brown and I aren't on the best o' terms. It's best I don't show up on his doorstep. Liam, Haytham will go with you; see what he knows. Jack, Thomas and I will see if anythin's turned up in the black market."

"The rest of you, keep an eye on the Inn and listen for any talk of a dark-skinned man wearin' a hood that might have been seen recently." Haytham added, with a nod to William, John and Benjamin.

"I have to wonder, though. If these men are just smugglers, what interest would they have in a precursor site? How would they even know about them?" William asked with a curious frown.

"I have a theory about that," Shay said, tapping his fingers on the table. "But I think I'll keep it to myself for now, unless I'm right."

"...I think know who you're on about, but he hasn't been seen since that disaster in Haiti." Liam added thoughtfully. "He also wouldn't o' left left behind a scene like that unless it was for a reason. He was always damned good at his work. Shay, don't you go after him alone. He's a dangerous son of a bitch."

* * *

Thomas and Jack went their separate ways, leaving Shay to investigate his own theories in peace. Or in relative safety. Laurent was a lethal killer. He'd worked for years freeing slaves after being taught how to fight by the Maroons. They'd never see him coming. Shay knew that, and he'd rather not have to haul the dead bodies of his allies back to town. If he was alone, he might have a chance. Maybe. That was assuming he even found the man. If he was still in Boston. If nothing else, he was relatively sure Laurent would be willing to speak civilly. ...They were both considered traitors by the Assassins, after all. Regardless, he knew that going after him alone was a bad idea. It didn't stop him. ...It should have.

"I'm sorry, it's nothin' personal." He said to a passing redcoat as he knocked him out cold with the butt of his air rifle, snatching his coin purse as he he did. He spared only a few seconds to tie and gag the naked the guard before hiding his unconscious form in a hay pile. He'd have time to regret tormenting an innocent man later, but he couldn't think of any other way to force Laurent out of hiding.

"Guardsman!" He called, waving to a patrol of passing redcoats. "Help! There was a murder just now! I saw it happen! A big colored man in a hood just killed that officer and robbed him!" The guards dropped everything and went to investigate, giving Shay more than enough opportunity to vanish. Thankfully, the patrolmen in Boston didn't recognize him. Back in New York, this scheme never would have worked. Now, he had only to wait. ...And to tip off a few of the town criers.

It was nearly midnight when Laurent finally showed himself. Or rather, Shay witnessed him leap from a stack of hay and stab the only nearby guard as he made a desperate bid for freedom. He bolted in the direction of frontier to get out of dodge, but Shay caught up with him. Well, he'd like to think he did.

"Wait!" He called, panting with the effort of trying to close the distance between them. Laurent was fast and moved with the intuition of a cat, bounding over obstacles with little effort. "Damn it, Laurent! You son o' a bitch!" At the sound of his name, the Assassin stopped in his tracks long enough to look over his shoulder. Recognition showed in his expression, followed by panic. Shay was there to kill him, obviously. Shay swore vehemently and decided that he just wasn't fast enough. He was, however, a damn good shot. Laurent crumpled to the ground after a few more steps with a well-aimed sleep dart sticking out of his shoulder. He was understandably irate when he woke up a few moments later tied to a tree. He shook his head, his long braided black hair falling into his face.

"Traitor," Laurent hissed, tugging at the rope binding him to test its strength. Shay knew it wouldn't hold him. Not for long, anyway. He was infamous for getting himself out of almost anything. He had to be, what with his infiltrating slave plantations and all.

"Sorry about that, but I wanted to talk t'you before you ran off again." Shay said and withered under the venomous glare that the behemoth of man sent his way. He was no less intimidating than he remembered him to be, though most of that was probably because he looked like bull beef on a good day. Only Haytham could deliver a glare more murderous. "Anyway, the gunsmith. You did him in."

"Aye." Laurent snapped. "To stop you lot from getting your hands on something no man ever should before you sniffed it out, you damned dog."

"So, this is just about this stupid war that's been goin' on since time began, and not actually to do with the smugglers at all?" Shay asked, as Laurent slipped his hands out of the bindings. Shay made to grab him, but he swatted his hands away.

"Peace. I'm not a savage, I'll talk about this like an adult instead of skulking around like a child. There's not much point in running when the prey's already cornered." Laurent ground out and leaned casually against the tree he had been tied to. Shay wasn't so easily deceived, he knew he'd have a hidden blade at his throat if he made any sudden movements.

"Where's the precursor site, and what is it?" Shay asked.

"First, the smugglers. I have no idea what you're talking about, to be honest. I've been operating alone since the fiasco in Haiti. Achilles and Mackandal wouldn't see past their own ambitions, so I follow the creed in my own way. Also, my condolences. I heard about Lisbon, and for what it matters, I won't fault you for the path you've chosen. I've survived the same, after all." Laurent replied, dancing around the question for the time being.

"Haiti... Wait, you were there?" Shay asked in disbelief.

"It was me that Mackandal sent there to recover a piece of Eden, along with a few of his best Maroons. Only it... Well, you know the rest, and the Templars stole the artifacts while I escaped with my life." Laurent replied, glancing over his shoulder in a way that suggested paranoia to rival Shay's own. "I still don't know how I made it out alive, and some days I wish I didn't." Shay made no comment; he didn't need to. He knew what that weight felt like – all too intimately.

"But these smugglers, if they're the same ones that made a mess of that merchant schooner in New York, then I know where to find them. I've been killing them off as I can. I... May or may not have thought they were friends of yours." Laurent said sheepishly.

"Why tell me that, then?" Shay asked. "It don't seem like helpin' me is high on your list o' priorities."

"It's not, but stalling you was." Laurent replied with a smirk.

"Stallin' me... What d'you - ! Shite!" Shay made it about two steps before the sound of a gunshot rang out through the night. The thought didn't register in his mind that the shot had been intended for him until he saw the blood. He swayed on his feet as the pain came and he grabbed at his chest where the wound was, desperately trying to stop the bleeding as he collapsed to the ground. It was a lethal shot, and he knew it. Yet, the only thought in his mind when he realized he wouldn't be walking away from this one was of Haytham. "No..." He rasped, the sight of his own blood staining the ground swimming in his vision as it began to go to cloudy.

"It's nothing personal Shay, but you _are_ the enemy. Rather, you _were_ the enemy. You really took a stink for a nosegay, didn't you? All I had to do was mention Lisbon and you go all puppy-eyed. Good riddance." He heard Laurent tell him as his vision clouded. He was distantly aware of the sound of the Creole man's footstep's retreating into the distance while he struggled to breathe. For a moment, he thought he heard another shot ring out. …And then, it all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blowing off the loose corns – having the occasional tryst or affair
> 
> Taking a stink for a nosegay – being really gullible
> 
> Bull Beef – Someone that looks like bull beef is basically a big muscular dude you really wouldn't want to pick a fight with.


	25. Another Dead End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! Oh boy, there's a lot going on in this chapter. Poor Haytham. And Shay. :c I wonder how they'll survive this one...
> 
> Warning for some violence and gore! IDK, it's AC so that's like a given, but whatever.

Most of the journey to the Brown family's farm was spent in a less than companionable silence. Liam was anything but thrilled to be working with Haytham. Haytham kept a hand on his sword hilt just in case Liam decided the world needed one less high-ranking Templar – their temporary truce be damned. He wasn't being paranoid, he reasoned, in Liam's position he would definitely be considering it. Such perfect opportunities to be rid of an enemy rarely present themselves, of course. Haytham glanced over at the Assassin riding alongside him on a white mare. His jaw was clenched and he held the reigns just a little too tightly. Obviously, he was poised to counter. He was no less suspicious of Haytham as he was of him.

"Who is it that you and Shay suspected might be involved in this?" Haytham asked, deciding he was tired of silence.

"His name's Laurent," Liam answered stiffly. "He was one of the Maroons, but after the collapse o' the precursor temple in Haiti, he went his own way. What happened there... Suffice t'say Laurent's about as mentally stable as a powder keg inches from a bonfire. He was always a bit o' a loose cannon, but after Haiti he... Well, Shay's made some mistakes, but at least he didn't kill ten of the Assassins' men on his way out."

"Not to point out the obvious, but he did eventually kill most of them anyway." Haytham replied.

"Aye, but... We didn't give him many options. Either we killed him, or he killed us. I thought he had a choice, but seein' things now... Well, I know that he didn't. We backed him into a corner – especially Hope. I warned her but..." Liam shook his head and swore under his breath. "Anyway, Laurent _did_ have a choice. But honestly, I don't think he knows any better. He's been through the same thing Shay survived in Lisbon, but I guess Shay's made o' sterner stuff because Laurent's lost his marbles." Liam explained, watching the road ahead of them – if one could call the overgrown cobblestone path a proper road.

"But he's still an Assassin?" Haytham asked, curiously.

Liam didn't answer right away, and he had a sort of far off look in his eyes when he did. "No, not really. In his head he is, but in reality he's a psychopath. In fact, Achilles had ordered me t'deal with him once we returned from the arctic. Though, after what happened there I've been questionin' my own loyalties. I don't think Laurent deserves to be slaughtered like a pig. He needs help. He was a good man once, but when he needed them the most, the others turned their backs on him. ...And just like with Shay, they refused to believe him when he warned them to hide the manuscript away, and stay the fuckin' hell away from the pieces o' Eden. Either way, I hope t'God Shay doesn't go after him without us. Laurent is dangerous, and more'n a match for him."

"He will go anyway. He had probably already found an excuse to part ways with the others by now." Haytham replied with an aggravated tone.

"Aye, probably. I guess you know him at least half as well I do by now, then." Liam conceded, smiling ever so slightly. "That idiot. He never does learn. He's goin' to get himself killed one of these days, and I won't be able to save his idiot arse. I just... Nevermind."

"You still care for him," Haytham realized. Liam gave him a sort of pained stare and gripped his mare's reigns tighter.

"I'll _always_ care for him, but he en't mine to care for anymore. It's too little too late, and it's best we never even see each other again after this. I still can't believe he found me in the fist place." He said eventually, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "Just promise me somethin', Haytham. You look after that idiot, and don't you ever hurt him or so help me God I _will_ kill you."

"Oh? You wouldn't do that anyway? Are the Templars no longer your enemies?" Haytham inquired, slowing his stallion to a trot as the road widened into an open meadow.

"I en't an Assassin anymore. I'm not fightin' for anythin' except to survive. They call me their mentor, but I really just live there. I don't have any desire to kill any more for a war that will never end, and a cause that I don't believe in. I believed it once, when I was naïve enough to honestly think that it was freedom and peace that the Assassin's fought for. We're almost there by the way, shouldn't be more'n an hour." Liam said glumly, looking up at the overcast sky.

Haytham followed him, deciding to keep his opinions to himself. All he could think of was a passing comment that Shay had made about Liam, and how he thought that he would have been able to see things from the Templar's point of view, given the chance. He was right, Haytham admitted to himself. Still, he wanted nothing to do with either side and Haytham could hardly fault him for that. Why was he here, then? That was obvious enough, at least. Shay. He probably begged him for assistance, out of some vain hope that Liam would join them, or at least reconcile their past. ...Neither was likely to happen, naturally.

"Tell me more about Laurent." Haytham demanded, hoping to change the subject.

"There's not much else to tell," Liam told him. "Most of his work was freein' slaves around New Orleans and some odd jobs for Mackandal in Haiti. The man is an expert at stealth, but not much in a fight if you actually corner him. He's big and tough, but he relies too much on strength. Still, he's damn fast and about as predictable as an angry bear. The problem, is that he _always_ has a back-up plan."

"I'm sure Shay will be fine, he's survived going after the others, after all." Haytham commented.

"Aye, but Hope nearly got him." Liam replied jokingly. It was true, of course. Shay had survived her poisoning – barely. He'd spent a week in bed hallucinating about giant worms crawling out of the walls afterward. Benjamin had needed to sedate him to keep him from hurting himself. They continued on in silence for another hour, stopping only once so Liam could check his bearings. They weren't far from Boston, but it was still untamed land that was relatively easy to get lost in. Around noon, the road finally widened and led to the front yard of the the large farmhouse – or what was left it.

"Shite. That can't be good." Liam commented, hopping down from his mare and tying her to a nearby post. Haytham followed suit, and bit back a slew of uncouth swearing. The place had been burnt to the ground, the main house and the two barns for housing livestock. Only the stables were left standing, and a myriad of animals roamed the grounds in search of food.

"We'd best look for survivors. I'll take the house, see if there's anything in the barn or stables." Haytham commanded, hoping his tone covered the sense of dread welling in his chest. It had been a while since something had truly rattled him. In the years following the siege of Bergen Op Zoom, Haytham had mostly learned to repress any reaction to things that triggered memories of the horrors, but this was different. When he looked at the blackened husk of the house, still smoldering in places, he thought of that fateful night in Queen Anne's square. The first time he killed, the look of utter horror on his mother's face... The stench of smoke clawed at his lungs and Haytham coughed, trying to chase the images of his father's last moments from his mind. Uselessly, he steeled himself for what he knew would be a similar scene – if any of them had survived.

Gingerly, Haytham stepped over the wall of what had once been a sitting room of sorts. Nothing stuck out to him as he sifted through the debris, careful not to let his cape brush against of the still-glowing timber. The fire had been utterly merciless. Nearly nothing remained aside from the metal skeletons of some of the furniture and a scattering of various objects. A glimmer caught his eyes as he moved, revealing a thin, partially melted silver chain resting in the ash. Gently, Haytham picked it up. As he did, it snagged on what was once the neck bones of the poor sod that had been wearing it. The chain bore only a simple cross, and Haytham was relatively sure the room he was in was the kitchen. A maid or slave, perhaps?

"Haytham, I've found something." Liam said miserably.

"So have I. Do you recognize this?" He asked and stepped out of the wreckage to hand him the cross.

"...Aye. That belonged to Tilly. She was their housekeeper, and always good for a trollop. But ah, she wouldn't o' known anythin' anyway." Liam said. "Anyway... The stables."

Dread welling up inside of him, Haytham followed Liam to the stables. The horses had since broken free, spooked by the fire or possibly stolen by the attackers. The stench of decay hit Haytham like a ton of bricks and he clapped his hand over his mouth and retched. Perhaps it wasn't a very characteristic reaction, but he felt a bit nauseous anyway what with his past trying to drown him. Liam gave him an odd glance and wordlessly pointed toward the last stall. Haytham willed himself to stay calm and went to look. There were three bodies there – an elderly man, and two women around Haytham's own age. The man's throat was cut, and both the girls had their heads smashed in.

"Molly's the redhead. Shay fancied her years ago, used t'honestly believe they could run off and get married. The blonde is Anne, her younger sister. And that... That's mister Brown." Liam said, rattling off their names like they meant nothing, but Haytham saw the faint break in his composure. These were people he and Shay had known. Maybe they had wound upon their bad side, but there were obviously fond memories there as well. "Now what?"

Haytham's eyes landed on a rusty iron shovel propped up against the wall. "We bury them, and get back to Boston before Shay does something stupid." Haytham said, fighting down a surge of mindless anger. He wasn't sure what kind of soulless animal it took to have the gall to murder a pair of helpless young women. It didn't even look like they put up a fight before being thrown in there like the day's refuse.

"You want to... Bury them?" Liam asked incredulously as Haytham turned his back on him and grabbed the shovel's age-worn wooden handle.

"It is better than leaving them to rot. At least when Birch murdered my father along with half the house's staff, and burnt the family home to the ground, they had funerals. No one will notice they've passed all the way out here. It will be months, probably." Haytham replied and glanced over his shoulder at Liam who a had a somewhat dumbstruck expression on his face. "...What?"

"It's funny. You know, you en't half the ruthless bastard Achilles would've had us believe." Liam replied with a shrug.

"Oh, no. He was right. I am _definitely_ a ruthless bastard merely not a completely heartless one." Haytham retorted. "Are you going to bloody help me or not?"

"Just give me a minute, Christ." Liam grumbled and hefted a pickaxe that had been in the corner over his shoulder.

It took them a good three hours to dig the graves on the side of stables, and to mark them with crudely made wooden crosses. It was hardly glamorous, but better than being left to fester in a run-down stable. They made their way back to Boston in relative silence, aside from the occasional passing comment. Something had shifted between them, however. Liam no longer sat straight in his saddle, nonchalantly waiting to loose the release for his hidden blade and sink it into Haytham's throat. He didn't look at Haytham, just the road ahead. Haytham hardly paid him any mind either, as he fought with his own inner demons – once again blaming only himself for Jenny's misery and his mother's estrangement. If only he'd caught onto Birch's scheming sooner maybe he could have -

The sound of a gunshot ringing through the still night air as they approached the gates leading into Boston startled both of them. Liam nearly fell off his horse as he scrambled to pull his pistol from its holster. Haytham already had his sword drawn, and through shear dumb luck managed to clip a large black man in an Assassin's robe in the shoulder just as he tried to run past them. He countered faster than Haytham was able to compensate for, and he found himself thrown from his horse face down in the dirt. The man cried out in pain as Liam bodily tackled him and wrenched a rifle from his grip. Angrily, Haytham wiped blood from his face, and kicked him hard in the side as Liam knocked him out cold with the butt of the rifle that he'd been carrying.

"...Laurent?" Haytham asked Liam, nudging the unconscious man with his foot. He woke instantly, grabbed Haytham by the ankle, and threw him to the ground. He would have ran a hidden blade through his skull, if it weren't for the bayonet protruding from his chest. Laurent coughed, and sagged, staggering away from Haytham and Liam, who was still holding the rifle that was dripping with blood. Laurent let out a wheezing laugh, and pulled out a pistol before either of them could react. Haytham dodged, but not fast enough. He grunted and nearly lost his footing as the bullet took him in the side – in the same exact place that Lucio had stabbed him.

"Bastard." He gasped, pressing his hand tightly to the wound to slow the bleeding as Liam snapped Laurent's neck with his bare hands and a slew of some incredibly creative crussing.

"Keep your shite together. Shay could be wounded, or dead. We _have_ to find him! You head to the docks, it looked like he was comin' from there. I'll – Haytham!"

"Fine. I'm fine. Just find him! Go!" Haytham growled, grinding his teeth against the pain. He shook his head and stumbled in the direction Liam had pointed. A passing patrol had heard the gunshot and come running, but the three redcoats hadn't seen anyone meeting Shay's description. The blood loss was making Haytham's head spin when he finally reached the docks. He couldn't see anything to indicate Shay's presence, and wandered to where the _Morrigan_ was docked. Mills was there, and had a fit over the state of him, but hadn't seen Shay since the previous afternoon. Just as he was about to give up, he heard the sound of Liam's voice calling to him.

"Find that arsehole, Church! And do it fast!" Liam barked, walking in their direction. Haytham's eyes went wide and the sense of absolute panic that overtook him rendered him utterly senseless. Liam had Shay's unconscious body draped in his arms, and there was no way a man drenched that heavily in his own blood could still be breathing. It was Mills who barked orders at a few of the _Morrigan_ 's crew that were hanging around to find Benjamin. Martin helped Liam get Shay to his cabin, and Haytham was only vacantly aware of Mills steering him the direction of the galley. He'd said something about letting the ship's doctor tend his wounds, but Haytham didn't really hear a word of it.

...What if he lost him? What if Church couldn't save him? How could he ever sleep again? ...What would he tell Connor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trollop – rough, hard sex.
> 
> Loose Cannon – still used today kind of, but basically someone's who's not really mentally stable.


	26. Fragments of a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tripping balls From something Church gave him, or an insane near-death experience induced dream sequence? I'll let you decide. Either way, I feel stoned just writing this insanity. ...That being said, I'm pretty proud of this monstrosity of a chapter, lol.
> 
> Also, warning for some sexual content because why not?

Shay had no idea where he was, only that he had been in pain and now... Now there was nothing. Only blackness. He thought he heard a gunshot, but that was all he was aware of. He hauled himself to his feet and walked ahead, or at least in the direction he thought might be north – not that the ground looked any different from the sky. How had he gotten to this place? He couldn't remember. The last memory he could conjure of was of Haytham – fucking Haytham senseless, more specifically. He had to find him. He was in this place somewhere, Shay could sense it. As he walked, the darkness became lighter and faded slowly into the streets of Greenwich that he knew well enough to navigate blindfolded, so the haziness did nothing to throw him off course. ...But hadn't he been in Boston? Shay shook his head, and followed the light. As he did, he thought he heard Liam calling to him. Liam would be able to find Haytham. Shay broke into a run, the fuzzy shapes of his surroundings becoming clearer as he did. He stopped outside the gates to Fort Arsenal for a moment and headed inside. It was empty, but he heard the scratching of a pen on parchment as he passed Haytham's office. He looked up, and gave Shay a lazy smile. He's here, Shay told himself, locking the door behind him, it'll be fine – I must of hit my head. It felt strange, like he wasn't in control of his own body as he leaned over and kissed Haytham timidly on the cheek.

"You are distracting me, Shay." Haytham purred and gave him a knowing wink.

"I'll show you distractin'." Shay retorted, and dropped to his knees as he crawled under the desk.

"Do not be such a bloody dasher." Haytham said as Shay unlaced his pants and flicked his tongue across the already hardened length of his cock. Shay let his eyes slide closed and swallowed him whole. He was where he belonged, on his knees in front of Haytham, nothing else mattered.

"...Love you." Shay breathed, as Haytham gave up trying to do his paperwork and moaned Shay's name in desperation. But suddenly, his breath caught in his throat and pain like a white hot blade lanced through his chest. The vision faded, and was replaced with the _Morrigan_ 's cabin. Or, at least he thought it was. The pain was blinding, and his surroundings swam in and out of focus. He tried to get up, to warn his crew that was something was wrong, but he couldn't budge an inch.

"Hold him still! If he moves too much he'll bleed out!" A voice barked in an irritable tone. Hold who still? ...Was that Ben Church?

"I'm tryin', damn it!" That... That had been Liam.

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by bone-deep cold and total silence aside from the sound a fire crackling merrily nearby. Shay sat up and yawned, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. Well, that was a strange dream, he thought to himself. Liam was already awake, sitting by the fire with his arms wrapped around his knees. They were more than welcome in the manor, Achilles had told them, but they were perfectly content to camp out on the homestead. It was peaceful, and no one bothered them. ...So much better than the noise and stink of New York, even without four barely standing walls to shelter them. They had each other. That was all they needed, really.

"Good mornin', Shay." Liam said with a nod. "Sleep well?"

"I had the strangest dream. Liam, I was a Templar." Shay told him and settled down beside him in a spot that they'd cleared the snow from.

"Aye, you are a Templar. Idiot." Liam replied and kissed him softly. Shay let him brush his fingers through his hair, and silently cursed the chill air. All he wanted to was to let Liam have his way with him, but he'd probably wind up with frost bite on his cock. Frankly, that wasn't something he wanted to risk. It was one of his best assets, after all. "That's enough, you've got to hang on. Haytham's fallin' apart worryin' about you. It's pretty damned pathetic to watch, actually."

"...Haytham?" Shay mumbled, as Liam let go of him. He was falling then, a bullet in his back and that damned manuscript clutched tight to his chest. He could see the icy water below as it rose to meet him, and he closed his eyes as the pain came. He screamed as the cold engulfed him, and he fell not into the Atlantic, but into his bed on board the _Morrigan_ again.

"Give me a towel – hurry! Damn it I'm losing him!" He heard Benjamin shout and it felt like a bear was trying to sit on his chest. Each feeble breath he took felt like a little bit of his life being squeezed out of him. "...And get him the bloody fucking hell out of here!"

"Damn it Haytham, wait outside!" Mills? Was that Mills? And why were they telling Haytham to leave. Why couldn't he move, or speak? ...And why did he feel like he didn't belong in his own body?

"I can't leave! You don't understand! I never... I never told him that I-!"

"Out! Now!" Liam and Mills barked in unison, followed by a few quietly muttered apologies and the slamming of a door.

Shay stared in terror at the closed door to the _Brighid'_ s Captain's cabin. He was really in for it this time. He'd get a flogging for sure. Steeling himself, he rang the bell and tried to ignore the snickering of his father's crew members as they watched him take the walk of shame.

"Come in, Shay. Get the lead out, boy." His father called from the other side of the door. He felt small, all of a sudden. But he wasn't small, he was damn tough for a kid his age. He threw open the open the doors, and decided he hadn't been in the wrong when he shot that pirate captain trying to board the ship. He didn't deserve to be punished.

"Father, I don't regret anythin'." Shay said resolutely. "I made some mistakes, aye, but you and the men are still here because o' it. I could o' hid like you said to, but then you mightn't be here t'be angry."

"I know that, Shay. Just remember that life is precious; don't ever kill without reason, and don't give up. Keep fightin'. The worst is over. If you make it through tonight, you'll be just fine."

"Tonight...?"

The vision faded to black, no, not black. It was just dark. He was lying awake in bed in Fort Arsenal, with Haytham curled up against his back. He sighed quietly and basked in the warmth of Haytham's bare skin against his. If he listened closely, he could hear Haytham's steady heartbeat and feel his breath against his neck. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. There was no pain or uncertainty, only safety and comfort.

"I love you." Shay whispered, knowing Haytham couldn't hear the words as he was do deeply asleep.

"Don't forget your purpose." Haytham murmured, and kissed the side of his neck. ...His purpose? What was that? What could possibly be more important that here and now? What mattered more than simply resting with Haytham?

The warmth became unbearable, and the scent of smoke cloyed at him. Shay thrashed, and found himself stumbling through a burning building. He found Monro, wounded and dying inside. Gasping for breath, and drenched in sweat, he managed to drag the older Templar outside. Shay ignored the pain of his own burns as he tried to keep Monro alive. He'd given him hope, direction, a reason to keep fighting. As he watched the light go out in the colonel's eyes, he felt like the world had abandoned him. It was only the white hot pain of Monro's Templar ring that had nearly melted in the fire searing a permanent scar into his palm that reminded Shay that he was, in fact, still alive. It felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped on it.

...Maybe they had. He was on board the _Morrigan_ again, this time aware that he was clinging to life by a thread. A tiny, frail, doomed thread about to snap. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, and his breathing was ragged. Each breath was a colossal effort, and he would be content not to take another single one if it weren't for Liam telling to just _breathe, damn you_!

"Shay, you've got to breathe." Liam whispered in his ear, and carded his fingers through his hair. He wasn't sure about this. It wasn't right. At least the pain was gone. And Church. He really didn't like Church. Still, why had he thought it would feel good to -

"Breathe! Relax, trust me. You do trust me, don't you?" Trust him, he could do that. Liam was the only person he _did_ trust. He sighed and let his head fall back against the pillows as Liam pressed a second finger inside of him. It didn't feel so strange anymore, in fact it -

"Jesus Christ, Liam!" Shay gasped, and bucked his hips. Liam chuckled under his breath and shoved him back down against the bed. He was a mewling mess of need, begging for Liam to take him – not that really knew what it was he was begging for. But for fuck's sake he needed it, and even though it hurt like hell as Liam slid into him for the first time (gently, of course), everything about that moment was perfect. ...But it wasn't. It shouldn't be Liam placing gentle kisses on his forehead as he began to move. It should be Haytham. This... This was broken a long time ago, and nothing could possibly repair it. Nothing.

"Hang in there, Shay. It's not hopeless." Liam murmured, smoothing his hair back from his face. "Nothin' is ever hopeless as long you keep fightin'."

"He's a fighter, I'll give him that. I think this would have killed any other man, honestly. Well, it might still kill him if it gets infected. We'll have to be very careful." Church's voice again. He was breathing a little easier now, and felt the familiar warmth of Liam's touch as he ran his fingers through Shay's hair. He opened his eyes, but closed them as the room seemed to be spinning.

"L-Liam?" He mumbled.

"Shh. Don't talk. How the shite are you even conscious?" Liam asked shaking his head.

"Where...?"

"The _Morrigan_. You're safe, it's goin' to be fine." Liam told him.

"...Haytham?" Shay grunted, and coughed with the effort it took to breathe. Liam heaved a sigh and grumbled under his breath.

"Mills? Would you? It's probably safe to let him in now." Shay heard Liam say. He fought to remain conscious, to stay in this moment rather be swept away again. "You're one tough son o' a bitch, Shay." Liam added, and Shay clung to his words like an anchor as the blackness threatened to swallow him whole. He didn't dare open his eyes, but he could hear Haytham approach. He knew the sound of his footsteps, the way he favored his right side and walked with a slight limp due to the old injury. The limp seemed more pronounced now, though. Had he been hurt again?

"Shay? Can you hear me?" He forced himself to open his eyes, and tried to say 'yes' but only managed a sort of pained grunt. His strength was fading fast and just staying awake was suddenly the hardest fought battle of his life. "Whatever happens, Shay. I'll be here with you. I... I love you. Just remember that." Just before he blacked out, he felt Haytham place a soft kiss on the scar above his eyebrow. He was safe, Haytham would protect him. He just had to keep fighting. But for now, he would sleep. ...At least until Church stabbed him mercilessly with another surgical tool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dasher – an obnoxious whore


	27. Never Give Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of updates. I think my job is legitimately trying to kill me.

In the days that followed the confrontation with Laurent, Haytham was relatively useless – considering his injury and mindless anxiety over Shay's condition. William and Charles took over the politics and paperwork that Haytham normally handled, while the others spent the time digging for any new leads. Liam worked independently to find any information he could, and spent most of his time alone. He still returned to the Green Dragon every night, though. When Benjamin asked him why he was still hanging around, he just shrugged and told him that he'd promised Shay to help kill the bastards. However, they were either being very cautious or had moved to another port as there hadn't been any signs of their presence.

A week later, Shay was still unresponsive. They had him moved from the _Morrigan_ to his room at the Green Dragon; thankfully the owners stuck to their policy of not asking questions. Connor, who had immediately adopted Shay as one of the few people he trusted, rarely left his side. Haytham had needed to bodily drag him out of the room one night to make sure he actually ate something. Instead, he just sat there staring at the soup Catherine had made like it had somehow offended him.

"What is wrong? Do you not like beef stew?" Haytham asked, nearly at the end of his patience. Apparently, looking after an emotionally damaged child was no less taxing than being in a relationship with a suicidally depressed killer. Connor looked up at him, and shook his head.

"Everyone I care about dies," He said flatly. "I need to be stronger so I can save them."

"It is not that easy. Sometimes, no matter how strong you are, there just is nothing you can do. You cannot save everyone. In my experience the harder you try, the more graves you end up digging." Haytham told him with a sigh. "Eat the soup, Connor."

"Will he wake up soon?"

"Of course." It was a lie, and Haytham wished someone would just rip his heart out. He'd asked Church the same question. The answer was 'maybe', but most likely not. 'Don't expect a god damned miracle, Haytham', he'd said and shooed him from the room while he changed Shay's bandages. The wound wasn't infected, and was beginning to heal, but it had done a lot of damage. The bullet had missed Shay's heart by less than an inch, and the only reason he was alive was because the shooter had been far enough away that the distance minimized the impact. Or, at least that was Benjamin's theory. There was no way the shot had been taken from close range. Each moment that passed was agonizing. Would he open his eyes and begin to recover, or would Haytham check on him only to find that he wasn't breathing anymore? He didn't even notice that he'd started pacing the length of the Green Dragon's loft. Connor watched him with interest. So did Liam, who had chosen that moment to turn in the for the night.

He watched Haytham for about five minutes before he snapped. "Come on, walk with me." He ordered and started back down the stairs. "Connor, stay here." He added when he hopped off his chair to follow. He pouted, but did as he was told. Connor had also decided that he was fond of Liam. He didn't have much respect for people he didn't like – a trait Haytham was working to remedy with very little success.

"You need to make arrangements, Haytham. He's not goin' to walk away from this. You need to accept that." Liam said when they were outside, safely out of Connor's earshot.

"Perhaps, just in case," Haytham replied glumly. "But not yet."

"It's been almost two weeks, and he's not showin' any signs o' improvement." Liam insisted. "It would be better for everythin' to be in order while you have the time to make preparations."

"No, I can't do that. If I do, it would mean I've given up on him." Haytham snapped. It was childish, he knew that. But if he gave up on Shay, how would he ever live with himself? Liam sighed irritably and leaned against the wall of the inn.

"You think I want this, don't you? Do you know why he's still alive at all? Because I couldn't kill him. I couldn't watch him die. That was why Achilles sent the others after him, because he didn't trust me to do what needed t'be done. ...He was right." Liam told Haytham, and stared ahead into the distance. "What we need to do is focus on the job. If he _does_ wake up, he'll be right furious with us for makin' no fuckin' progress."

"Tell me when you find something." Haytham muttered, and went back inside. Pathetic as it was, he couldn't handle handle that type of talk. Shay would wake up – he _had_ to.

Connor had left the loft, and Haytham found him curled up next to Shay. ...Shay who was just as far gone as he had been a week ago. Maybe he _should_ make arrangements for a proper funeral. No. He had to believe Shay would recover. He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted Connor on the shoulder. "Would you leave us alone for a bit?" He asked, and Connor left without protest – though he did glance at Shay with a frown, the way he looked at things that confused him.

"Shay you bloody idiot." Haytham said more to the otherwise empty room than Shay himself. There was no reply, of course. Absently, Haytham ran his fingers through Shay's hair and wondered exactly what he would do if he didn't pull through. Shay wouldn't want to be laid to rest in Boston. He hated it here. The _Morrigan_ was the only place he considered to be his home. But again, Haytham could not think these thoughts. He wasn't dead yet. He was still here, still breathing. Barely, but he still was.

"Don't you dare leave me." He said in utter despair. Maybe, just maybe if Haytham hadn't been staring vacantly at the wall with his back to Shay, he might have seen his lips twitch into the ghost of a smirk.

"I... wasn't plannin' on it... Sir." Haytham nearly fell off the bed in his haste to to turn around. Shay looked up at him blearily and closed his eyes tightly. "Am I drunk? Where'm I?" He mumbled incoherently.

"...Connor! Connor please find Benjamin!" Haytham yelled. "What can you remember?" He asked quietly and laced his fingers through Shay's. Shay shook his head weakly. Talking was probably too much of an effort for him, Haytham realized.

"You are in your room at the Green Dragon." Haytham told Shay patiently. "You went after Laurent and... Well, he must have shot you."

"Not Laurent," Shay said and coughed. Haytham tried to stop him from talking, but he did anyway. "He had... He had help. A woman, I think. He distracted me."

"Must've known he was good as dead if he actually tried to fight you off himself, so he had back-up. He always was a clever bastard. If it's any consolation, Haytham kicked him in the jewels for you." Liam said from the doorway.

"I...did?" Haytham said, frowning.

"Aye, when he tackled you, just before I stabbed him in the gullet with his bayonet." Liam replied with a smirk. Ben shoved him out of the way and leaned over to examine Shay. Even in his sorry state, he managed to give his least favorite Templar a withering glare.

"H-how much're you chargin' for this?" He slurred as Ben checked his bandaging.

"Oh, we'll settle up on that later." Ben muttered. "Don't move, idiot. The only thing holding you together is a few stitches!" He added as Shay made a pitiful attempt to sit up. Haytham gently shoved him back down.

"Does this mean he is out of the woods?" Haytham asked, hopefully. Ben just laughed and walked out of the room, not even deigning to answer. While it was a definite 'no', Haytham had to literally fight with himself not the throttle the man for his arrogance. ...And if anyone knew a thing or two about being an arrogant prick, it was Haytham.

"If anything," Church called from the hall, "I should go down in the history books for digging a bullet out of a man's heart, and having him survive two days – let alone half a month. Even if he dies now, it's still a noteworthy achievement in the field of medicine. Pity it'll never get put to paper considering we're doing the devil's work. I'll have to charge extra for lack of scholarly recognition."

"Haytham, can I... Ugh. Can I stab that self-righteous sod?" Shay asked, his words a little more coherent.

"You are not in fit shape to stab anything." Haytham chastised him, but leaned over and whispered in his ear. "...As long as it is not in public."

"That's what I love about you." Shay replied, and laughed – to his obvious immediate regret.

"What else can you remember? Did Laurent say anything useful?" Haytham inquired as Liam shooed Connor away and shut the door behind them, blessedly giving them a few moments of privacy. Shay only shook his head. Haytham decided not to press the matter. Shay was his primary concern, the rest could wait. No good would come of pushing him, when he could hardly speak without being in pain. "Do you recall what I said to you, when Church finished patching you up?" Another mute shake of his head. Haytham hadn't expected him to remember, but it didn't matter. Shay loosely held the edge of Haytham's sleeve as he got up, wincing as he put too much pressure on his sore side.

"...Stay." Shay mumbled and blacked out, his hand falling limply back to the bed.

"As if I would even consider you leaving you, idiot." Haytham whispered and kissed his forehead.

* * *

As the days passed, Haytham worried a little less about Shay. He still spent most of his time dead to the world, but he was mostly coherent when he was awake – a good sign, according to Ben. Sensing that he was beginning to recover, Connor seemed to cheer up as well. He could be found sitting with Shay, sometimes trying to read him passages from Haytham's books. Haytham kept a wary eye on both of them. One afternoon, he found Connor sitting on the stairs by himself, staring vacantly into space. Half wondering if he'd be able to get back up, Haytham sat down beside him.

"Is something bothering you?" He asked, looking down at him. Connor had grown a bit since he took him in, Haytham thought. Or, at least put some weight on. He'd been a skinny slip of a thing when they first met.

"I miss my mother." Connor said flatly.

Now that, Haytham thought to himself, is not a topic I want to touch with a ten foot pole. Yet, there was no avoiding it. "I do as well. She was a remarkable woman. I will not mourn for what could have been, however; she would not want that."

"No," Connor agreed. "She told me once that she left you because she hoped you could learn from your mistakes and fix them. So you could be a better person."

"Well, that is depressing." Haytham replied, though in truth he knew that. She'd said those words herself, though he had often tried not to think about them. Recently, it had been different. It was a struggle for him to keep what he had with Shay from falling apart, but he needed only to remember Ziio to find the right path. Or, the rather harsh lesson she'd taught him.

"I think she was wrong." Connor said, looking at Haytham out of the corner of his eye.

"...Pardon?"

"You're not a bad person, father." He said, pulling at the hem of his shirt sleeve. He was something of an odd sight, really. A little native boy with feathers in his hair, yet dressed to the nines just like the Templars who'd been watching over him. It was actually Charles and John who had taken him to the tailor. He was quite the little gentleman when he wanted to be, but also a bloody terror when the mood struck him.

"You did not know me then." Haytham told him, and wondered if he was any different – if he had changed at all. Maybe. He was still a jaded, bitter soul. ...But, no, not so much anymore. Shay was like a bright spot in the darkness, a reminder that there was something in the world worth fighting for. Connor, too, of course. He doubted he made a very good father to the boy, but he had to try – even if just to do try to do good by Ziio's memory.

"Don't care." Connor said stiffly.

"Why did you leave your village, Connor?" Haytham asked. He'd never had any luck before, maybe he'd break down and answer this time.

"To kill Charles Lee, but it wasn't his fault. Still don't like him." Connor answered bluntly.

"Why not return, then?" Haytham asked, still wondering how a child so young not only knew how to kill, but had been plotting a murder. Either way, Connor only shook his head and hopped down the stairs. Haytham didn't stop him. Perhaps he shouldn't let him wander freely around the docks, but the locals knew not to mess with the little native boy – unless they wanted to deal with him and/or Shay. Suffice to say, no one paid Connor any mind. Regardless, it was like trying to earn Shay's trust all over again. Connor, however, was much more fickle and thoroughly unpredictable. ...A trait he had most certainly inherited from his enigma of a mother.


	28. Something Worth Fighting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how much the updates have slowed down. My job is kicking me in the ass. Hard. On a side note, I am really disappointed at how little Shaytham fanart there is. (Though, what does exist is gorgeous, especially Sunsetagain's work.) Anyway, I'm probably going to go back and edit the older chapters before I add more. There's a few mistakes I'm seeing now. Thanks for all the comments and whatnot so far! :3

Shay stared vacantly at the ceiling in his room at the Green Dragon. Connor was there, telling a story about how he and his friends got chased by a bear in the woods once, but Shay wasn't really listening. The only coherent thought in his mind was of how absolutely miserable he was. Once again he'd survived yet another near-death experience, and frankly he wondered if he'd be better off dead this time. He failed himself, and the Templar Order. He knew damn well that going after Laurent was foolish at best, and suicide at the worst. Liam had explicitly warned him not to go. Still, he went – like a petulant child disobeying its parents just because they said 'no'. Not for the first time, he questioned his actual value to the Order. He was a burden to them now, that was all. What had he actually accomplished since that last fight with Liam? Nothing, unless he counted dragging Haytham into his despair. Well, it was more like Haytham had invited himself to his hopeless pity party, but _still_.

What was his purpose now, anyway? Originally, Shay had been driven by the need to stop the Assassins from causing any more incidents like the destruction of Lisbon and Haiti. ...But what now? Did he even really believe in the Templar ideals, or was he using it as an excuse to avoid admitting to himself that he had no idea which way was up anymore?

"Shay?" Shay did his best to will away the crippling self-loathing for the moment, and turned his gaze to Haytham who was standing in the doorway. How long had he been there, Shay wondered and made no effort to reply. Haytham sighed and seated himself on the edge of Shay's bed, shooing Connor from the room. He gave them both a dirty look and left. Neither of them said a word for several moments, until Haytham finally broke the silence.

"Liam and I will be leaving with Gist in the morning to investigate a lead on Laurent's accomplice." He explained. Shay merely nodded, and disgustedly resigned himself to at least a week with only Ben and Connor for company. Given a choice, he'd prefer to throw himself off that cliff in the homestead all over again rather than face that particular reality. Not, Connor – obviously. Ben, Shay resented. He hated to admit it, but he was jealous. Jealous of who, though? Liam for spending time with Haytham, or the other way around? ...And why did he even given a shite? He didn't deserve either of them. He never had.

"Shay, I _can_ stay. I could send Charles in my place. It is hardly a high-risk job, and most likely will prove to be a bloody complete waste of time." Haytham said, obviously sensing Shay's distress.

"No. Just – just go, Sir." Shay snapped at him, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"No," Haytham said quietly and smoothed Shay's hair out of his face. "Maybe it would be best if I stayed."

"Damn it! Just _go_! You have an obligation to the Order to sort this out. That's more important than sittin' here with me." Shay countered in an icy tone. "If anythin', I should be doin' it! This is _my_ mess, and _I_ should be the one cleanin' it up."

"Let it go, Shay. I am not abandoning my responsibilities. I have a personal obligation to look after you as well." Haytham insisted. "Besides, we have no concrete evidence that this job will result in any useful information ...Never mind that if I leave you alone with Church, I would not be surprised to return and find that you have killed each other in my absence."

"That mightn't be a bad thing." Shay replied, relaxing a bit. He wanted Haytham to stay, but he half hoped he'd go since it was killing him for Haytham to see him like this. It was pathetic. He couldn't even sit up without help. "...Can you promise me somethin', Haytham?" Shay asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

"What is it?"

"If... If I manage to get myself killed before you do, throw my arse overboard somewhere I've never sailed. The _Morrigan_ is the only place I call home. I don't want to be buried in this rat hole." Shay said with a somewhat pessimistic tone. Again, they fell into an uncomfortable silence and Haytham eventually answered with a stiff nod of his head.

"Don't you even _think_ of dying on me. Not now; not after all of this." Haytham commented when he obviously couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Not today." Shay said gruffly. How was it that he could go from wishing he were dead, to praying for immortality? It never ceased to amaze him how much of a hold Haytham had on him. It wasn't a bad thing, really. It gave him direction – something to cling to. ...Something to protect, to fight for. It was a little scary to think about it, but if all else failed he'd follow Haytham's lead – no matter what.

"So what next, after we put an end to these bastards?" Shay asked, not really caring about the answer. It was silly, but he just wanted to hear Haytham's voice.

"Right now, I do not have any specific plans. We need to do something to stabilize the colonists' relations with the Crown, though." Haytham told him, stating the obvious.

"The others, they all know about us now – don't they?" Shay finally said, glancing back up at the ceiling. Laying there was driving him mad. He didn't have the patience to read the pile of books Haytham had left him.

"Aye... I had a bit of a crisis over the state of you." Haytham responded. "However, I am relatively certain they all firmly believe I will murder them if they cannot keep their comments to themselves. I think they knew anyway. We did a rather pitiful job of hiding it, truth be told."

"I'm sorry I scared you, Sir." Shay told him with a weak smile.

"Nothing to worry about. You are still with me, after all."

* * *

As the days passed, some of Shay's strength began to return. Still, his room felt like a prison cell. He spent most of his time sleeping, when Haytham wasn't with him. With sleep came the usual slew of nightmares, but that was preferable to being awake and lost in thoughts of how badly he'd cocked up this time. He must have replayed the scene with Laurent in his mind a hundred times over. He was convinced that he was missing something. But how much, and how accurately did he remember? Did he imagine the woman he saw in the distance? Was she merely a hallucination, the last thing he saw before death nearly took him? He didn't know, but for some reason it haunted him. With a sigh, he glanced out the window at the heavily falling snow outside. At least he was warm under his blankets, and there was some amusement to be had at the others' expense.

Shay never minded the winter. William despised the cold and had become something of a recluse, never leaving his spot next to the hearth in the tavern proper. Thomas... Well, Haytham had found him drunk and half frozen in more than one ditch. They'd taken bets on how long it'd be before they found him frozen to death with a bottle of liquor still clutched in his hands. Ben had caught a nasty flu from one of his patients and managed to pass it along to John, leaving Haytham to look after Shay. Shay didn't mind that one bit. Haytham had a steadier hand, and wasn't a complete arse when he asked for help with something or other. Honestly, Shay would wager a great deal of money that Ben was prodding him a bit too hard on purpose when he changed his bandages. He sincerely hoped he'd have an excuse to stab him one day. Really, he'd settle for beating him senseless at this point.

"Did you want something to eat?" Shay hadn't even noticed Haytham watching as he stared into space.

"No; when are the others due back?" He asked.

"Truthfully, they should have been back now." Haytham told him with a frown. "I am hoping it is merely the weather delaying their return. Ah well, I will change your dressing and you can have something to eat whether you want it or not."

"They're numberin' the waves. The only way they're goin' to find somethin' is if Laurent _wanted_ us to. He never left anythin' to chance, and cut every loose thread." Shay told Haytham as he helped him sit up and slip off his nightshirt.

"Maybe, but he's never crossed _me_ before." Haytham replied and undid the previous day's bandages. It was healing quickly, now. Shay was well aware that this was the type of injury that would never quite heal entirely, not unlike Haytham's ever so slight limp from being stabbed by Lucio. Either way, he'd be back on his feet soon enough. Really though, how many times was he going to have get shot before he died?

"...Stop that!" Shay whined, as Haytham leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It was bad enough letting him tend his wound. Haytham's touch did unmentionable things to him... Things he wasn't sure he had the the stamina to properly deal with.

"So sorry, what did you say?" Haytham purred and nipped at his throat. Shay cursed under his breath and swatted him away.

"Don't be a damned tease." Shay mumbled, and Haytham only chuckled quietly before nibbling on the tip of Shay's ear. "...Really, who'd have thought a Templar Grandmaster would be such an incorrigible trull?"

"Mind your manners, Shay." Haytham hissed and threw his coat over the back of the chair beside Shay's bed.

Shay raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What are you on about? You know I can't do anythin' like this."

"Which is exactly why you are going to behave yourself and allow me do it." Haytham replied and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, like he was about to participate in some sort of particularly dirty work. Shay fought not to laugh, and nearly choked on his breath as Haytham took him in a deep, heated kiss. Shay thought he might have literally downed in it by the time it ended.

"You know something, Shay... I am not sure how or when it happened at this point, but I have come to need this beyond any sense of reason or logic." Haytham said in a husky whisper, and the words undid Shay nearly as much as his touch. Had anyone ever told him that he was needed? No, not that he could recall. It was always him that needed others.

"Sir, I -"

"Shh!"

Shay gasped and let his head fall back against the pillow as Haytham threw the covers off him, and trailed hot kisses across his chest. He nearly lost it when Haytham nibbled at the nipple that wasn't covered with bandages and cupped his hardened length in his hand. In truth, he needed this too. He hadn't even really thought about it, but he was desperate for release. It wasn't the first time he wondered if the sex was the only thing keeping him sane. He hadn't had the chance to fall into his hopeless routine of internal apathy, not when all it took to distract him was a kiss or a soft touch in just the right place. ...Was it just distraction, though? Did he really _love_ Haytham?

I do, he thought without a hint of doubt, and mewled like a cat in heat as Haytham swallowed him whole. He hadn't been expecting that. Haytham had mostly come to terms with his slight insecurity over engaging in a homosexual relationship (as far as Shay could tell), but he was still very reserved in how he went about it, and not all that comfortable in a submissive position yet. So this, even though Shay knew he'd never admit it, was a huge step for him to take. He somehow managed not to whine in disappointment when Haytham stopped for a moment, obviously stifling a gag.

"Take it slower, and just the tip." Shay told him encouragingly. "It takes a bit o' practice."

"You will have to give me a proper instruction when it won't kill you to get on your knees." Haytham drawled and sucked experimentally at the head of Shay's cock.

"I'd – Oh... I'd be glad to." He mumbled in response, drowning in the glorious sensation of Haytham's ministrations.

"I look forward to it," Haytham whispered and dragged his tongue against the length of Shay's erection. He tangled his fingers into Haytham's hair and sighed in bliss. Haytham's uncertain, but confident movements were undoing him far faster than Shay wanted to admit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Haytham unbutton his trousers and take his own cock in a firm grip. That, he had to admit, was a wondrous sight. Vacantly he wondered of Haytham would let him watch him masturbate, and nearly spilled himself as he sucked a little harder.

"Sir, I'm goin' to -" Haytham squeezed Shay's cock hard and brushed his lips across the tip. Shay gasped and arched his back, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest from the sudden movement.

"I appreciate the warning, but do go ahead and come for me, Shay." Haytham demanded. "I want to taste you," He added in a sultry murmur, and stroked himself roughly as he took Shay into his mouth again. Shay mumbled a few broken endearments as Haytham pulled him over the edge with a long, hard suck and swallowed every last drop of his seed. For a moment, Shay just lay there panting.

"Hm. Curious." Haytham said seemingly to himself. "I enjoyed that more than I thought I would."

Shay barely managed to stifle an almost girlish giggle. The way that Haytham took an analytical, almost scientific, approach to sex never ceased to amuse him. "Let me help you with that." Shay mumbled and wrapped his hand around Haytham's arousal. He moaned softly and lay down beside Shay to make it easier. He let Haytham bury his face in his shoulder, and kiss him lightly on the throat. Shay rested his cheek on Haytham's forehead, and stroked him in a fast, even rhythm. It didn't take long for him to spill himself in Shay's hand, chanting his name in a broken whimper. It was then that Shay realized he needn't be so worried about Haytham perceiving him as weak. After all, the Templar Grandmaster had no qualms about letting Shay see him fall to pieces with a few skilled touches. He was learning to trust, little by little. Shay knew it would take time before Haytham truly let his guard down, but he was definitely getting there – one baby step at a time.

"Stay with me tonight," He whispered, and kissed Haytham gently on the forehead.

"I already said that I would. My, you are needy." Haytham replied with a quiet chuckle and carefully shoved Shay over onto his side so he could snuggle up to his back. "Get some rest, I will not go anywhere."

"Haytham?"

"Yes?"

"I love you." Shay said in a whisper.

"I love you, too." Haytham replied so quietly that Shay wasn't entirely sure he'd said it at first. "...If you make me repeat that, you can sleep alone." He added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Shay smiled to himself, knowing that Haytham would rather swallow an eel that admit such a thing. Yes, definitely a solid step in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbering the waves – wasting time
> 
> Trull – a whore


	29. Everyone Hates Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the lack of updates. I went through and did some proofreading and minor grammatical edits to all the previous chapters.
> 
> Church is an asshole (which we kind of knew anyway...), and maybe a little ooc in future chapters. And there's a bit of homophobia here, and it will be worse in the coming chapters. It IS the 1700's after all... So, just a friendly warning for that.

Shay was (mostly) back on his feet by the time Charles and Weeks returned to Boston. As Haytham had suspected, they found nothing of use and Charles got himself a nasty case of frost bite. Not that he really cared. He knew it was a waste of time. That meant they were done with Boston for the time being, and that was as good as finding an abandoned gold mine as far as he was concerned. Shay, on the other hand... To say he was being a bit sullen would be a gross understatement. He was hardly thrilled to leave the sailing to Gist and the _Morrigan_ 's crew, and even less enthusiastic about having Ben, Thomas and Charles on board. He spent most of the first few days sulking about on the deck, or asleep in his cabin when he ran out of the energy it took to behave like an irritable woman.

"Shay, exactly what the bloody hell is your problem?" Haytham nearly snarled on the third day. Shay looked up at him from where he was sitting propped up with his back to a stack of crates full of tobacco.

"I don't have a problem, not really." Shay grumbled. "I just feel like shite and I'm tired o' layin' about like a dead thing."

"I thought... Never you mind." Haytham replied with a sigh and sat down beside him. The weather was finally starting to break, and it was warm enough for the crew to abandon their thick woolen scarves. Spring was near. Though, to be fair, it hadn't been a particularly harsh winter. Soon the streets of New York would be full of merchants, and the chill still hanging in the air would be a distant memory. "You will catch cold staying on deck." Haytham admonished Shay, tiring of his silence.

"Nonsense, I need some fresh air." Shay complained as he watched Ben and Charles nearby out of the corner of his eye. Haytham had been mostly ignoring the pair of them, but they were starting to worry him a bit. They had done nothing but bicker since the incident with Laurent. Liam had even cryptically warned him that Ben might not have the Templar's best interests at heart, not that it was particularly any of his concern. Perhaps he should have taken it more seriously. Uncertainly, he glanced at the Assassin in question, who was lounging against the railing nearby and staring at the open sea before them with a bored look on his face. The others weren't happy to have him around, either. ...But they had learned to grudgingly respect him.

"Keep an eye on those two for me, Shay." Haytham said, nodding in Ben and Charles' direction.

"Already have been, Sir." He mumbled in reply as Haytham left him. Cautiously, he inched his way closer to the suspicious pair and made a show of mingling with a group of the crew members that were milling about. He strained to hear them, to no avail. Just as he made to sneak closer, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Come with me," Gist whispered so that only he could hear. Wordlessly, he followed Gist through the hatch to his cabin in the _Morrigan'_ s hold. Both of them checked to make sure there wasn't anyone nearby to eavesdrop and seated themselves on the edge of a large ammunition crate.

"You need to keep your eyes on our boy, Benjamin." Gist said flatly. "And... With all due respect, keep your shite together, Sir."

"Pardon?" Haytham asked, frowning. "What is he up to?"

"He doesn't exactly approve of your relationship with Shay, and he has been rather vocal in voicing his opinion that you aren't fit to lead our rite – that the order isn't your priority, and we can't trust your judgment to be sound. The others _are_ a bit sympathetic to his ranting, well, except for Charles and Thomas." Gist told him flatly, devoid of his usual jovial tone and flair for the dramatic. "Frankly, you need to be more cautious. That crisis you had when Shay was injured... It didn't do you any favors in proving them wrong. This sort of thing it... It's not right by most folks. You need to remember that. I'd give Shay this talk, but I think we both know he'd tell me I'm barking at the moon, and to kiss his arse."

"I suppose I will have to remind Church of his bloody place. _Again_." Haytham grumbled.

"It is a valid concern." Gist commented. "If you found yourself in a situation where the only way you could keep a piece of Eden out of the Assassins' hands was to leave Shay behind, possibly to die, could you do it?"

"You say that as if you think he would abandon me in a similar situation. He would not." Haytham snapped tartly.

"No, he wouldn't. But he isn't the one the others are looking to for leadership." Gist pressed.

"I would find a way. There is _always_ a way." Haytham growled and stormed out of the cabin.

He couldn't. He would _never_ leave Shay like that. ...Which meant Gist was right. Maybe he wasn't fit to lead them anymore. Once again, he was forced to choose between his devotion to the Order and someone he loved. Back on deck, he looked to Shay who had seemingly fallen asleep where he sat. He thought of Ziio, and how being with her would have meant leaving the Order. It was the same thing all over again. He couldn't have both, even though Shay was a Templar. ...And maybe his judgment wasn't sound. He'd simply frozen, been incapable of a single coherent thought when Liam appeared carrying what appeared to be Shay's corpse. Miserably, he sat on the edge of another tobacco crate near Shay's sleeping form. Once again, he had no choice but to face the reality that he had to end it. He stole a glance at Shay, who twitched slightly in his sleep – tormented by some foul dream or other.

"I can't do it." Haytham said aloud, and found his way to Shay's cabin. He couldn't let go. He would never be able to live with himself if he did. Not this time. Shay needed him, and even though he loathed to admit it, he needed Shay. Shay grounded him and gave him strength. Pushing him away was not an option. Already, a plan began to form in his mind of how to convince the others that they had broken it off – that they'd made a mistake and planned on pretending it never happened. ...While they remained lovers in secret. He pondered over a million and one different excuses to feed the others as a light knock on the door snapped him out of his thought.

"Yes?" He called, quickly stashing his journal that he'd left on Shay's desk. He didn't worry about Shay reading it, he respected Haytham's wishes for him to leave it well alone. Though, truth be told there wasn't anything in there that the other man didn't already know. Haytham bit back a curse as Liam walked in, shutting the door behind him.

"Here to remind me that I have lost the trust of most of my men?" Haytham asked with a hint of venom.

Liam heaved a sigh and sat in the chair opposite the desk. "No, I don't care if your happy little circus falls apart. I'm only after these smugglers because Shay asked for my help, and I owe him for the shite I've put him through. He probably wouldn't even have been on your side if I'd listened to him after Lisbon." Liam told him irritably. "But, I do care about him – which you know damn well. I just wanted to remind you that you'll be shakin' a cloth in the wind if you hurt him."

Haytham glared daggers at him. "I will find a way to fix this." He said, just as Shay walked in without knocking. Both Haytham and Liam swore under their breath and tried to hide the guilty expressions on their faces. Shay frowned and looked first at Liam, and then at Haytham.

"If you were havin' a bit o' fun you could've invited me." He said with a pout, and sat stiffly on the edge of his bed.

"Whore." Haytham groaned.

"I doubt you have yet seen just how much of a whore he _really_ is." Liam said with a smirk. Shay threw the spare compass he had sitting on his bedside table at Liam's head. He caught it deftly and dropped in on the desk, chuckling under his breath.

"By the way, I can have a guess at what you're talkin' about. Ben's been spewing shite about how we can't trust you since I got shot. Don't worry about it too much. Charles has been tryin' to talk him down, and John more or less told him to shove it up his arse – that it en't any o' their concern as long as we do our bloody jobs. Jack outright laughed at him." Shay explained, and Liam nodded in agreement but stayed silent.

"True, but how much _can_ they trust me if you are my priority and not the Order?" Haytham replied.

"The way I see it, it en't about pickin' one or the other. I don't think you'd sacrifice any o' us just to stop the Assassins' plottin'. You don't have to win every battle, as long as you can fall back, lick your wounds and strike back twice as hard. They know that, and they know you'd risk a hell o' a lot to save any o' their arses if they get into trouble – not just mine." Shay told him, as if it should have been obvious. "Besides, Ben's just bein' a bottle head. Some of the rot that's come out of his mouth is just... I en't goin' to repeat it."

"He has a point, you've got to admit that. I'm goin' back out there before that lot starts thinkin' we're conspirin' against them. ...Or doin' somethin' untoward." Liam interjected and vanished from the cabin.

"If you even think of commenting about that not being a bad image, I will shoot you in the cock." Haytham hissed once Liam was out of earshot. Shay gave him a wry smile.

" _You_ are the one who said it, boss." He retorted with a sly wink.

Haytham cleared his throat and glared at him in mock annoyance before replying. " Absolutely not."

"Spoilsport." Shay pouted. "At any rate, what's on the agenda when we get back to New York, Sir?"

"Hopefully we can get back on the smugglers' trail, and Liam thought he might be able to use one of Achilles' old contacts to get a lead on who the woman you saw was." Haytham replied. "Either way, we need to get to the bottom of this."

Shay didn't reply immediately, he glanced out the window with a far away look in his eyes and shook his head. Haytham watched him curiously. Normally Shay was an easy read as far as emotions went, but right then he couldn't make heads or tails of what was going through the man's head. Something wasn't right, though. That much was obvious. He always managed to drop the subject, and sometimes outright vanished from the room when the conversation came up. It wasn't typical behavior for him, to say the least – unless it was something he _really_ didn't want to deal with. Obviously, Haytham saw the unspoken response immediately for what it was. Fear – not the typical kind, naturally. Shay didn't really have any concept of fear in the conventional sense as far as Haytham could tell. No, the thing that terrified him the most was that he wouldn't be able to carry out a task assigned to him. It was something Haytham had only seen on a few truly rare occasions, namely right before he had to kill Hope and later, Liam.

"Something is bothering you." Haytham noted, somewhat surprised he chosen to stay where he was rather than flee from the cabin to avoid the inevitable.

"It's just... I don't think what I saw was real. It can't be. She's dead. She has to be. I can't... I can't do it again. It was hard enough then..." Shay said flatly in a tone so carefully devoid of emotion that Haytham saw through it in a flash. "She is dead." He repeated, as if he needed to remind himself.

"Who, Shay?" Haytham pressed. "Why have you never mentioned before that you actually recognized this woman before? She damn near killed you!"

He only shook his head. Haytham sighed in irritation. "No, I killed her. I think... I wasn't thinkin' straight. I lost too much blood. He had an accomplice, but it couldn't be her. I was seein' things. I killed her – I had to. At least, I like to tell myself that. Doesn't help me sleep any better, though." Shay mumbled somewhat incoherently.

"Damn it, Shay." Haytham groaned. "Tell me."

"Hope. I saw Hope." Shay told him, and something in Shay's eyes told Haytham that he was lying to himself this entire time, trying to recall it differently. He was right, though. He must have imagined it. Hope was certainly dead, ran through the heart with his hidden blade. Shay had even managed to attend her makeshift funeral. Well, in a sense. He'd been hiding on a nearby rooftop. But he _had_ been there.

"That is not possible." Haytham reassured him.

"I know that, but it's drivin' me mad. ...That she would be the last thing I see." Shay insisted.

"Aside from Liam, she was the only one you were all that close to." Haytham replied with a shrug. "People see all sorts of odd things when they have near-death experiences."

"I need some air." Shay mumbled and finally made a bid for freedom. Haytham didn't stop him as he limped out of the cabin. He didn't worry, not really. He knew he would he wake up in the middle of night as Shay somewhat clumsily tried to sneak into their bed. That was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barking at the moon – pointless ranting
> 
> Shaking a cloth in the wind – to be hanged
> 
> Bottle head – idiot
> 
> Spoilsport – a killjoy


	30. A Prisoner of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, Shay's in trouble now...
> 
> Warnings: sexual content, and referenced past non-con in this chapter. Nothing too detailed on that and it's not going to be a major theme in this, but it's there.

Shay sulked behind a pile of crates near the waterfront back in New York. Haytham had tried his damnedest to convince him not to go with Liam to meet his contact, but Shay wouldn't have a word of it. As much as he wished the opposite, Shay simply couldn't trust Liam enough to take his word for granted – an argument that Haytham was hard pressed to disagree with. Still, he had to avoid being seen. The man had worked with La Chasseur in past and might recognize him, so he followed Liam in the shadows from a short distance. It was difficult to keep up, though. He was mostly recovered, but not quite enough to do anything that required any kind of actual physical exertion. Shay darted behind a corner, catching his breath as Liam stopped near the docks. He motioned for Shay to stay hidden, and he fell back into the shadow cast by a moldering pile of unused lumber as a man approached Liam.

He wore the hood of an Assassin, but he had the look of a sailor about him. His skin was dark, and his long, black hair that poked out from his under his hood was done up in braids with beads at the ends. His muscled arms were covered in tattoos. One of the maroons, then? It took a moment for the notion to register in Shay's mind, but in a flash he wondered how much Laurent actually had to do with the killings, as this man fitted the description just as well.

"Jean, how've you been?" Liam asked in a cordial tone.

"Let's skip the niceties. What do you want, Liam? You do realize the brotherhood sees you as traitor these days, do you not?" The Assassin answered gruffly, his voice a deep baritone. Liam? A traitor? Shay strained to listen, a hundred and one questions popping up in his mind.

If the accusation bothered Liam, he ignored it. "I killed Laurent in Boston." He said flatly. "I didn't want to, but the bastard didn't leave me much choice. Was he workin' with you lot?"

"Laurent? No, we've been trying to hunt him down for some time. Ah Tabai hoped we might be able to get some sense back into him, but... Well, he actually gave me the order to deal with him as soon as I could. It seems you've done my dirty work for me." Jean sighed and tapped his foot on the rough flagstones beneath his feet. "What about the Templar attack dog? Our spies tell me he took a nasty shot."

"Dead." Liam said shortly.

"So, why are you poking around, anyway? As far as I was aware, if you stayed out of our business, we would stay out of yours." Jean asked, and Shay bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. The bastard was smart, he'd give him that.

"Because you _aren't_ stayin' out o' my business. Well, your boys aren't at least. Anticosti is off limits to them, they know that. Tell me why you let your men kill a bunch o' women and children, and I'll consider lettin' 'em live." Liam snapped icily.

"There was a Templar spy in -"

Liam rolled his eyes and gave Jean a stern glare. "No. I would have known. And dealt with it myself."

"Look, they're just smugglers. They make good spies and make getting weapons easier. They aren't always the sharpest tools in the shed." Jean retorted. "They've gotten a little bold lately, sure, but that's no reason for you to come out of retirement and meet me in person. It seems to me, that you might have found a new cause -"

"Listen here you bloody sack o' shite! I want one thing: the name o' the man that killed Cormac. Give me that, and you can walk out o' this alive." Liam hissed, Shay barely managed to hear the words but he had his air rifle cocked and aimed before Liam finished the sentence. If Jean didn't co-operate, he died. Actually, either way he died. They had agreed on that before they even set out. If they let him live, he'd surely warn his men. Besides, Liam didn't want to run the risk of him escaping with the knowledge that he was in New York and asking questions. It wouldn't do the Templars any favors either, Shay knew. Which, to say the least, wasn't really like Liam. ...It was more in line with Haytham's way of thinking, if anything.

"Oh? What is this? Revenge? Wasn't killing Laurent enough to satisfy that?" Jean asked, breaking into a fit of laughter.

"You could say that. It's a little bit personal. If anyone was goin' to put a bullet in Shay's heart it should've been me." Liam replied irritably. "Talk."

Shay tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind that the statement had probably been truthful, at least to some extent as he kept listening. It hurt, really, not knowing where he stood. On on hand, Shay felt like Liam still cared about him, on the other he was reasonably sure Liam was waiting to stab in him the back when he exhausted his usefulness. Shay didn't know why he cared so much, though. He had put Liam and everything he had once meant to him firmly in the past. So why was it, that he just couldn't give up the feeble little hope that they could fix things?

"Constance Baker. ...And she ain't no man." Jean snapped, and Shay nearly missed it after he allowed himself to get caught up in his thoughts. "She's your gal, but you'll never catch her. We're done here. Now piss off." Jean added and shoved Liam aside.

Shay sighed and pulled the trigger. Liam had his boot on the unconscious man's throat by the time Shay slowly made his way closer. If nothing else, news would probably take some time to get back to the Assassins, never mind the local authorities. Shay wordlessly searched Jean's corpse for anything useful, and pocketed an envelope bearing Achilles' seal when Liam had his back turned.

"Somethin' wrong, Shay?" Liam asked as he helped him tie some bricks to Jean's feet before they shoved him off the edge of the docks. Thankfully the area was deserted, so they didn't have witnesses to silence.

"I – No. Baker... D'you recognize that name, Liam?" He asked and nudged Jean's rifle off the edge of the dock with his boot. It fell into the sea with a muffled sort of splash, followed by a trail of bubbles that seemed to shimmer in the fading light.

"She's a nobody as far as I know – one o' Hope's apprentices. Or, she _was_ one o' Hope's apprentices." He replied tartly. Shay shook his head mutely. "He have anythin' useful on him?" Liam asked, glancing pointedly at the shadowed depths of the water.

"No, just some coin and a bit o' sotweed." Shay lied effortlessly.

"Fine then, let's head on home. There's naught t'be done for now. Tomorrow's another day, and all that rot." Liam told him nonchalantly.

"Aye, and Haytham'll skin me alive if I stay out too late in this pitiful shape." Shay muttered, mostly to himself. If Liam had an opinion, he kept to himself. It was then that he realized that Liam had referred to Fort Arsenal as 'home'. ...What did that really mean? He had to wonder. Surely, it didn't mean that he felt that he belonged there. That couldn't be possible, not with Ben's constant harassment, Thomas' alcohol fueled insults, and the others' general disapproval. Haytham was the only one that tolerated his presence with any semblance of being civil. Shay shook his head and followed Liam deciding not to think on it too much for the moment.

* * *

Shay lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the bedroom. The letter bearing Achilles' seal was tucked in his desk drawer – under Haytham's journal that he absolutely did _not_ touch. Ever. Under pain of death. He didn't want to look at the blasted letter. He knew he'd have to, but he figured he might as well prolong the inevitable. What if Achilles was back in the game? Was sparing the bastard's life a mistake? Haytham would be furious. Shay could just imagine it now... 'I _told_ you this would happen! You should have just let me kill him! What were you _thinking,_ Shay? _Were_ you thinking?!' Dejectedly, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow that smelled a bit like Haytham. He cringed inwardly and felt like a child waiting to be chastised.

"Fuck it." Shay swore and kicked the covers off. He snatched the offending correspondence from the drawer and lowered himself to the carpet in front of the fireplace, using the orange glow of the waning flames as light to read by. Uncertainly, he slipped his finger into the folds of the parchment and carefully tore the seal.

* * *

Ah Tabai,

I sincerely apologize, but I stand by my previous statements. I will remain in retirement. Just this once I will answer your questions, but I would humbly request you leave me in peace after this.

You are a fool if you honestly believe that Shay is dead. Wounded, perhaps, but probably not dead. Make damn sure next time. We made that mistake, after all. It only cost us everything. Your messenger tells me you've lost track of Liam as well. His loyalty is questionable at best, especially where Shay is concerned – do not forget that. He _will_ protect Shay, and has thwarted our plans to be rid of him several times in the past.

As far as the precursor site... Just let it be, but make sure it stays out of Templar hands. No man needs the kind of power those artifacts hold. You know what happened in Haiti, and Lisbon. I doubt I need to remind you of that. Honestly, I am shocked you even asked.

Sincerely,

Achilles Davenport

* * *

Feeling somewhat relieved, Shay tossed the letter into the fireplace, watching vacantly as it was consumed by the flames. What was he going to do about Liam, though? It had been Shay who asked him for assistance, but the more time that went by, the more he wanted him to stay. ...Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that Liam was waiting to off him – in spite of what he wanted to believe, and the contents of the letter. The letter mightn't even be real, after all. ...Even if he knew Achilles' tidy script well enough to recognize it. Besides, Liam would never side with the Templars. He was only doing so now because their interests were aligned, of course.

"Shay? What the bloody hell are you doing down there?" He visibly tensed at the sound of Haytham's voice. Once was a time that not even a sodding mouse could sneak up behind him, but lately... "Shay?" Haytham repeated, now standing beside him. With a sigh, he told Haytham about the letter, and let the other man half drag him to the bed.

"What else is on your mind?" Haytham pressed, acting as though he didn't even care about Achilles' correspondence with Ah Tabai. ...Maybe he didn't. It wasn't exactly something of significance. Shay watched him in silence for a few moments as he took off his coat and pulled the ribbon from his hair.

"Liam, mostly. I wish I could trust him." Shay mumbled. And more, he thought, why can't I just let go?

Haytham fixed him with a searching sort of stare, and stripped out of the rest of his clothes. "Rarely is anything ever truly black and white." He said thoughtfully. Shay didn't reply. Haytham shoved him down into the bed and kissed him near to asphyxiation. " Stop fretting. Whatever happens will happen, and we will deal with it when it does."

"That doesn't sound like you, Sir..." Shay mumbled, pressing his face against Haytham's shoulder.

"No, but I am quite finished with chasing my own damn tail. Let them show their cards, then we will strike. I never was one to hunt shadows; it is a waste of time." Haytham explained. "As far as Liam is concerned... I have no more idea of his motives than you do. We need to remedy that."

Shay sighed quietly. "What d'you propose, Sir?"

"I 'propose' that we slay that beast tomorrow. Right now I want only two things: sex and sleep. In that order." Haytham replied in a husky whisper. Any response Shay might have had was cut short by a startled gasp as Haytham rolled over and pinned him tight to the bed. He didn't bother to try and claim a dominate position. Haytham was obviously in a mood of some sort, and chose Shay's body to take out his frustrations on. All things considered it was probably safer that way. Perhaps that was why the other Templars (aside from Church, obviously) didn't particularly take any real with issue with their involvement. Frankly, it made sense. Haytham was _much_ easier to deal with, and significantly more approachable now that he had an outlet of sorts. ...He hadn't even threatened to put his boot up Thomas' arse in over a month.

"Well?" Haytham asked, with that annoyed expression he had every time he needed to repeat something because someone wasn't quite listening.

"Hmm?" Shay mumbled, not really interested in a coherent conversation with the way Haytham had his knee nudged against his groin.

"I asked how you would like me to take you." Haytham quipped and nipped at Shay's throat nearly hard enough to draw blood. That left a mark for sure, Shay thought to himself and made a mental note to make sure his collar was buttoned all the way to hide it in the morning. Haytham dragged his tongue across one of Shay's nipples and gripped his cock tight in his hand when Shay didn't answer immediately.

"And Liam called _me_ a whore..." Shay groaned. "Patience, mate. You need some."

"I am not feeling particularly patient, Shay." Haytham hissed. "Fine, we do this my way. I think I shall make you beg for it..."

"...Beg?" Shay muttered incredulously. "I don't – Shite, Haytham!" He thought he might have been about to say 'I don't beg!', but whatever direction his thoughts were headed in came to a screeching halt as Haytham grabbed his wrists and pinned him hard to the bed. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to; Haytham obviously meant business. Shay wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. He tried to slip out of Haytham's grip. Haytham easily shifted his position and held him in place. A long suppressed memory flashed through his mind then, unbidden. His breath caught in his throat. It was cold all of a sudden, damp too. He felt cold stone beneath him, and the sound of cruel laughter filled his ears.

"What's the matter you tender parnel, O'Brien not here to save you this time, eh? Bet you're wishing you never left the urinal of the planets, now ain't you?" He remembered those words clear as anything. They'd been wrong, of course. Liam had saved his arse just in the nick of time.

"Let me go." Shay said flatly, giving Haytham a light shove. "Now."

Haytham obviously sensed the near panic in his voice and let go. "What is wrong, Shay?"

"Nothing. Just... Don't do that again." He replied, and wriggled free from Haytham's slackened grip.

Haytham stared at him silently for a moment, and pulled him tight against him. "Is it something we need to talk about?"

"Not now." Shay mumbled, melting into the warmth of the embrace. He didn't know any better; he wouldn't hurt him on purpose. "Quit your worryin' and fuck me, already."

"No need to repeat that." Haytham commented and snatched the small glass bottle of oil from the night stand. It never ceased to amaze Shay how easily they'd fallen into this routine – how comfortable they were with each other. It hadn't been like this with Liam. It had taken years to get to this point. ...Liam. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind as Haytham slowly began to move. What they'd had was a memory now, nothing more. This though, this was real and it was Haytham that mattered. Shay could tell himself that at least. He moaned quietly, arching himself against Haytham as he sped up his pace. No, he didn't need anything else. Whenever he felt himself starting to fall, all it took was a smile or a kiss from this enigma of a man to save him. Yet... Was the letter real? Had Liam actuallysabotaged the brotherhood's attempts to kill him? He wanted to believe it, God did he want to believe it.

A heated kiss from Haytham was enough to drive the thoughts from his mind – for the moment, at least. "You are distracted. Let us change that..." He purred tracing his index finger along the jagged, fresh scar across Shay's chest from his most recent near scrape with death. It was still healing, and very sensitive to the touch. Shay squirmed and dug his nails into Haytham's back, momentarily overcome by the pleasure mixed with a slight sting of pain. "That is better," Haytham mumbled and tangled his fingers into Shay's hair. Any sense of conscious thought left Shay entirely as Haytham wrapped his hand around his cock, which was his undoing. The climax took him so hard, he felt for a moment that he might have blacked out. It was Haytham speaking to him that snapped him out of semi-conscious haze.

"Shay?"

"Mm?"

"...Why did you did just call out Liam's name?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sotweed – tobacco
> 
> Tender Parnel – a pussy, basically. A whimpy person.
> 
> The urinal of the planets – Ireland. This one actually kind of makes me a little angry, ugh. ...Along with that stereotype that all us Irish are a bunch of drunks.


	31. A Proposition for a Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, this thing has gotten so out of hand. I only meant for it to be like 25k words. What happened...?
> 
> Warning: A little elaboration on the previously mentioned non-con, but nothing graphic.

To Shay's credit, his first reaction wasn't immediate denial. It was mild confusion, followed first by shock and then panic. In other words, it was anything but the usual 'I've just been caught cheating on my lover' reaction.

"I don't... Did I really...?" He stuttered, looking at Haytham with wide eyes. Haytham sighed and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. They'd been through too much to throw it away now. He owed Shay that much at least. He ruffled Shay's hair lightly and drew the covers up over his shoulders.

"You did." Haytham told him in a flat tone, carefully devoid of emotion.

"But I didn't... I mean we haven't... Not in years and -" Shay rambled, flustered.

Haytham pressed his finger to his lips to silence him. "I know. I trust you. Calm down, take a deep breath, and tell me about it."

Shay took a moment to compose himself and uncertainly met Haytham's eyes. "I can't let go. I don't know why. I know that I should, that it's just a memory now, but... I want him back, at least as a someone I can call a friend. I know we'll never be what we were, but sometimes I think about it... And how much I miss it." He explained miserably. Haytham somehow managed to swallow the jealousy that surged through him – for the moment, anyway. What would he do if Shay went back to Liam? He didn't know. The answer wasn't there. It wasn't as simple as shooting him in retaliation for breaking his heart, or poisoning Liam's tea. ...Not that he would do either of those things. He'd only kill Liam if he were truly a threat to the Order and, and at that moment he was anything but. Regardless, Haytham was the Grand Master of the Colonial Rite, and a grown man – not a bloody scorned woman. He chose his words carefully. Or, at least he thought he did.

"And if somehow all crimes were forgiven... Who would you choose? Him, or me?" Haytham asked, holding his breath as Shay regarded him with a pained expression.

"That's the hard part, en't it?" He said quietly. "I can't have both o' you."

* * *

Haytham paced the length of his office aimlessly, ignoring the pile of paperwork that Charles had left for him. He was at a loss as far as how to handle Shay. If nothing else, it was a volatile situation. If Shay chose Liam and left the Order Haytham would lose not only one of his best assets, but so much more on a personal level. He felt a little bad about leaving Shay to sleep alone, but if it particularly upset him, he hadn't made a comment. Haytham needed to be alone, needed to think. ...Not that it was particularly helping. He could see Shay from the window in the office. He was sparring with Charles in the courtyard, Connor sat on one of the carved stone benches watching them studiously. Haytham turned away and glared at the stack of papers with enough venom to set them ablaze. He didn't really care about fighting with the lobsters over land ownership rights at the moment, though he supposed he had best attend to it. Shay would be _furious_ if the authorities removed Fort Arsenal from his possession to use as a storage facility.

Just as he reached for the sealed envelope bearing Colonel something-or-other's seal, the door to his office swung open with a soft squeak. Expecting Shay, he steeled himself. Only Shay ever went in without knocking.

"Father?" Haytham let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and and turned to Connor.

"Yes, Connor?" He asked, sitting down at the desk and making a damn good show of hiding how much of an emotional wreck he was. Connor scooted himself up on the large ornate chair opposite him and tucked his legs underneath him. Haytham made a mental note to teach him how to sit properly on a day when he was likely to have a bit more patience.

"Were you mean to Shay?" Haytham blinked in confusion, and frowned.

"Not that I am aware of." He replied. "What is wrong with Shay?"

"Charles told him to ask if you were getting your work done, but he said he should leave you alone – that you wouldn't want to talk to him. He seemed sad." Connor said, in an accusing tone. "You should tell him you're sorry."

"It is not that easy, little cub." Haytham explained.

"Why not?" Connor pressed. Haytham sighed, and thanked whatever Gods there were for having the patience to deal with this.

"I love him, but I am losing him." He said flatly. Connor probably already knew, he was as damned perceptive as his mother, with all of Haytham's stubborn pride. It was a deadly combination.

"When you really love someone, you know when you need to let them go because they would be happier someplace else – no matter how much it hurts." Connor said cryptically.

"Did your mother tell you that?" Haytham snapped, bitterness in his voice. He knew the answer. She'd said that to him herself on the day she left. It was the last thing he'd ever heard her say, and the words stung like a blade had been thrust right through what was left of his heart. "Well, I am not ready to let him go! Now go practice your numbers!"

"Why? I want to play in the garden." Connor pouted.

"Because I bloody said so!" Haytham shouted and Connor scurried out of the office. He immediately regretted yelling at Connor. He had good intentions, even if he had the tact of a drunken deckhand. But then again, who was to blame for that but Haytham himself? If he hadn't been such an arrogant sod, Ziio wouldn't have – No. That was a dangerous train of thought. It had been a long time since had entertained the idea that they could have reconciled and been married. She was gone now, anyway. Gone. The pain that welled up in him was overwhelming. He'd give anything, _anything_ , to see her smile again. To feel her touch, to – . ...So that was what Shay was trying (and failing) to cope with. Maybe he shouldn't have left him to his own devices. Again. When the bloody hell would he ever _learn_ from his own mistakes? Possibly never. All he could do was keep picking up the pieces. Stiffly, he pulled on his coat and decided to be a man about it, like he should have done from the beginning. "I am really starting to wonder which one of us is the damned woman." He grumbled to himself.

He passed by Connor in the dining room. He was surrounded by a pile of wadded up paper and concentrating on learning his times tables. For what it mattered, he learned quickly and was eager to prove his value to the Templars, despite the fact that he knew nothing of their Order. "I am sorry for shouting at you." He said somewhat sheepishly. Connor looked up and gave him a crooked smile.

"It's okay. Say sorry to Shay." Connor replied. "I'm sure he'll forgive you for whatever you did."

Haytham didn't grace the statement with a reply. He swept out of the hall and nearly ran smack into Charles in the foyer. Charles said something to him that was completely ignored as he strode through the door behind him. For a moment, he imagined Charles standing there staring at the door as though it had offended him. He smirked in spite of himself. He spared Shay a glance as he apparently examined the large red blooms of a rose bush that was nearly twice his height. Strange, that it had bloomed so early. It was only the second week of April, after all. Haytham smiled to himself, knowing that Shay tended the flowers when he thought no one was looking, and that he would deny it until his dying breath. Willing himself to leave Shay be for the moment, Haytham continued on through the main gate, nodding to the guards as he passed.

He found Liam seated at one of the small tables outside of Shay's favorite tavern in Greenwich. He had a cup of tea in one hand, and a small battered book in the other. Wordlessly, Haytham sat down in the chair opposite him. Liam stared curiously over the top of the book for what felt like an eternity before he put it down, and took a sip of his tea.

"Hey, Beth, fetch another cup o'

tea would you? That's a good lass." He called to the blonde barmaid that was lounging at the next table over, nursing a tankard of something much stronger than tea.

"Anything for you, Liam!" She said sweetly and sauntered inside.

"All right, what the shite did you do? You look like someone's died." Liam asked, frowning.

"Aye, probably me by the end of this conversation." Haytham grumbled, and gratefully took the tea that Beth handed him before waltzing back into the tavern. What such a lovely young thing was doing serving drinks at a run-down ale joint was beyond him.

"Out with it." Liam urged, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair that protested with a loud creak.

".Shay is still very much in love with you." He said bitterly. "And, I may or not have accidentally given him an ultimatum to choose one of us."

"Bollocks." Liam swore and shook his head. "That's a right mess you've made. Do you really think he _could_ choose? This is Shay we're talkin' about. He follows his heart, and doesn't think to use his head until he's already neck deep in trouble. Still, he's all yours. I can't... I loved him once, but the son of a bitch killed off everyone else I cared about. After all that's happened... I can forgive him, but nothin' more."

"You could be his friend." Haytham hissed.

"It's a little late for that." Liam retorted. "Maybe, I could have... Before I found Hope's body."

"Then why did you sabotage Achilles' every plan to be rid of him?" Haytham asked, remembering Shay's recounting of the letter he'd found. It was a bluff at best, but it had the desired result. Liam stared at him slack-jawed and at an utter loss for words.

"I did no such thing." He answered, but he was grasping at straws. He'd been caught in a lie and he knew it.

"Tell me about it." Haytham pressed.

Liam stared into his empty tea cup for an eternity before he finally answered. "When La Chasseur turned up dead, I knew it was Shay. I know his work when I see it. When he went after Kesegowaase, I made sure we were playin' booty. I sent the reinforcements along with Hope to attack the British troupes in town, leavin' the fort with half it's defenses. Kesegowaase never had half a chance. For what it matters, I didn't kill Monro. That was Hope. I tried to stop her, but I was too bloody late."

"Why did you try to save Monro?" Haytham asked curiously.

"Because he was a good man, who did good for people who couldn't help themselves. I didn't think he deserved t'die just because he was a Templar. I never questioned my orders before, but after seein' how badly Shay regretted killin' Smith and Washington, I started thinkin' on it. Hope didn't exactly agree and took matters into her own hands. None o' them trusted me again." Liam explained. "Hope... I killed her as much Shay did. I knew the path Shay would take as he chased her, and led her right to him like a pig to slaughter. I told her our ship was waitin' at the docks... Only it wasn't, and she had no back-up. And Chevalier... Honestly, if Shay had somehow cocked up killin' that arrogant bastard I would've done it myself, and planned to. In the arctic, I stalled Achilles for nearly two weeks before he got tired o' my shite and I followed him into the precursor temple."

"Yet, you still consider yourself an Assassin." Haytham mused in disbelief. If it was true, Liam was by far a worse traitor than Shay. Shay was a known evil, but Liam preyed on their trust and took them down from within.

"No. I don't. I haven't in years, not since Achilles drove Shay to kill himself rather than let him have that blasted manuscript. I knew then that I was on the wrong side, if whatever Shay had seen was worth dyin' for to keep it from happenin' again. ...But it was too late to turn back. It doesn't matter. I had to do what was right, even if it meant watchin' them die." Liam replied, fiddling with the hem on sleeve for some sort of distraction.

"Perhaps. What of the Templar Order? Would you never consider lending your skills to us in a more permanent nature?" Haytham inquired, curious of the answer.

"Is that an official invitation?" Liam said, regarding Haytham coldly.

"Aye, so long as you remain loyal to our cause. With what you have seen of us now, I suspect it is quite different from what you have been led to believe over the years." Haytham told him. "Think on it, and find me in my office when you've made up your mind. I need to go attempt to remedy the mess I've made of my more personal affairs."

"If I refuse?" Liam asked.

"Then you will leave once the smugglers are dealt with, as you had originally planned to do, if you think you have it in you to stay away. Though, I doubt you will refuse. After all, you have seen the true face of the world." Haytham replied cryptically and left without waiting for a response.

* * *

Shay was sitting in the garden with Connor on his lap and his arithmetic book in his hands. Haytham hung back for a moment and watched in silence as Shay tried pitifully to explain how the concept of division works. Connor looked completely lost. Haytham sighed and seated himself right next to them. Wordlessly, he scooped a hand full of small stones from the ground beside them.

"There six of these stones, imagine for a moment that they are slices of a cake. If all three of us each share the cake equally, how many slices do we get each?" Haytham asked, and arranged the stones into three groupings of two. "Two pieces, see?"

"Oh, I understand now!" Connor exclaimed, snatched the book from Shay's hand and ran back inside.

"But that's almost exactly what I said." Shay commented incredulously.

"Maybe he just needed a visual representation." Haytham said with a shrug. "Shay, I wanted to apologize. I should not have asked you to make a choice like that."

"It doesn't matter. Liam wouldn't want that." Shay replied, somewhat distantly.

"No, he would not. I just finished speaking with him, actually. That letter, Shay, it was true. He really did thoroughly trash the Assassin's plans to be rid of you, and I believe him." Haytham told him, and hesitantly he added: "It was Hope that killed Monro, not Liam. He tried to stop her, and in doing so lost their trust for him. At any rate, what did I do last night that made you so uncomfortable?"

"I don't like to be held down that." Shay answered vacantly, completely ignoring the other statements. Though, if his change in demeanor was any indication, he was relieved to know that Liam wasn't actively trying to kill him.

"Yes, but why exactly? I would avoid a repeat of it." Haytham pressed. Shay chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

"I should've known you'd ask. I don't know why I bother." He replied, giving Haytham a soft smile. "There was a group o' about five men, I think maybe four. I don't really remember. They were the local louts that always hung out at the bars, pickin' fights and whatnot. One night I was drunker than a skunk and they followed me out, plannin' to rob me. When they found that I was piss broke, they decided to just kill me for their trouble. Well, after they had a bit o' fun with me. They didn't get any further than holdin' me down and rippin' my drawers off before Liam sent them packin'."

"Christ." Haytham said, hardly able to imagine a time where Shay couldn't have killed five men blind-folded, one handed and three sheets to the wind.

"Aye. I think the thing that really threw me, was that after that was when I started to wonder if maybe I'd like it with a man. You know, even though I wanted nothin' to do with sex for the longest time. I didn't want to be touched at all; it just reminded me that I was a weak, helpless sod. I'd think o' how disappointed my father would be to see me, that I couldn't get my shite together well enough to watch my own back, and I'd want to die. The worst was that I couldn't look Liam in the eye for months because all I could think of what it might be like to be with him, with someone I trusted. Well, until he finally – literally – backed me into a corner and made me talk about it." Shay continued, and fell silent when the Assassin in question slowly made his way across the other side of the gardens and into Fort Arsenal, hands shoved in his pockets.

"And how did that go?" Haytham asked curiously.

"He laughed at me, and I sulked around like a scorned woman. Eventually he realized I wasn't pullin' his leg and decided to give it a go. We were all we had, after all. He had only just started workin' for the Assassins then. Though, to be fair anythin' more serious than a kiss didn't happen for nearly a year." Shay answered, looking up at the darkening sky. "Are you goin' to make me sleep alone again?"

"No, you idiot. I won't." Haytham told him and patted him on the shoulder. "Shall we find some supper?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lobsters – The British
> 
> Playing Booty – playing with a plan to lose
> 
> Three sheets to the wind – very, very drunk


	32. If you Can't Beat them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for vanishing. Life has been kind of an epic burning trainwreck for me. Also, bring tissues, this bit is an angst fest. I totally made myself cry writing the later part of this chapter.

Shay spent the better part of the following day helping Gist and the _Morrigan'_ s crew mend a bit of damage to hull that she'd taken from a nasty scrape with a rocky sandbar on the way back from Boston. Haytham was still steering too wide, apparently. He'd have to teach him how to properly handle his beloved Phantom Queen just in case, heaven forbid, he was ever unable to captain her again. He was sweaty, covered in mud and wearing nothing but a pair of worn trousers when Charles came looking for him and Gist. They shared a glance as Charles approached and wrinkled his nose at their appearance.

"Master Kenway needs the two of you in the dining hall, now." Charles said flatly. "Just clean up first, for the love of God."

"What's he on about?" Shay muttered, brushing dried mud off his pants. Gist shrugged and grabbed his coat from the post where he'd hung it near the docks.

"I don't know, best we don't dally." He replied and led the way back inside.

Shay was anything but clean, but it would have to do. At least he'd gotten most of the muck off, and tied his hair back into something resembling a neat pony tail. It was getting long, though. If it weren't for the fact that he knew Haytham liked it that way, he probably would have chopped it off a month ago. Deciding he'd rather be a little dirty than face Haytham's wrath for being late, Shay made his way to the hall. Charles, Ben, Jack, Chris, Thomas and Liam were all there waiting for him. He stood beside Haytham who gave him a curt nod.

"All right, now that we are all here, I have an announcement to make. I have given this quite a bit of careful thought, and I would appreciate you all approach this with at least half of dignity you managed to muster when we welcomed Shay into the Order." Haytham told them, and held up a hand to silence Ben who was already about to bemoan something. "Today, we welcome Liam O'Brien into our fold."

Shay could swear that his jaw dropped to the floor as he glanced first at Liam who regarded the others with a glare that just dared them to start talking shite, and then to Haytham who gave him a subtle wink.

"Do any of you, other than you Benjamin because nothing _ever_ pleases you, object to this decision?" Haytham asked the group. Thomas snickered at Ben who was standing next to him and went about ten different shades of red. But the amazing thing, Shay thought, was that not a one of them objected. ...Not even Ben who damn well would have made his opinion known regardless of Haytham's comment.

"Very well, Liam. Do you swear to uphold the principals of our Order, and all that for which we stand? Never to share our secrets, nor divulge the true nature of our work? And, to do so until death – whatever the cost?" Haytham asked, meeting Liam's eyes.

"I do." He replied, without a trace of hesitation.

"Then I welcome you to our fold, brother. You are now a Templar. May the father of understanding guide us all." Haytham concluded, and pressed one of the iconic Templar signet rings into Liam's palm. "That once belonged to my father, if you were curious."

"Your father? But wasn't he an Assassin?" Shay asked, unable to help himself. Haytham gave him a wistful smile.

"Yes, but before he joined the Assassins he had a few dealings with the Templar Order. He stole the identity of a would-be traitor to the brotherhood, in order to collect a reward from the governor of Havana for handing over their maps to the Templars. He played along long enough to join the Order under his false identity – entirely to make a monetary profit, of course. Eventually he became an Assassin, but he always kept that ring as some sort of reminder of the mess he'd made." Haytham explained. "...Or so Jenny told me, at any rate."

For a moment, Shay had forgotten that Jenny actually existed. Haytham rarely mentioned her, and with mostly good reason. Liam slipped the ring onto his finger, over the scar there from where he'd been branded as an Assassin in observance of the old Tradition that went as far back as Ezio Auditore's time. "Your family seems about as stable as somethin' out o' Shakespeare's plays. It's a good thing you two can't have kids to pass your dysfunction onto. No offense, o' course." He said, smiling.

"We have Connor." Shay reminded him.

"I suppose one day he will stab me in the back for how terrible of a parent I am." Haytham grumbled. "Luckily, he has you, Shay."

"Arsehole! So that's why I'm always the babysitter." Shay grumbled, as the others fell into a fit of badly stifled laughter.

"Quit belly achin', Mum." Liam quipped and clapped Shay on the shoulder.

"Call me that again, and I'll put my boot so far up your bum I'll kick your teeth out, _Auntie_ Liam." Shay replied indignantly. The pair of them joked back and forth all the way out to the courtyard, leaving Haytham to deal with the others. Shay flopped down onto one of the benches, and Liam took the seat beside him.

"What made you decide to join the Order?" Shay finally found the stones to ask. Liam recounted what he'd told Haytham about how he'd been no less of a traitor himself. Shay's head spun as he imagined it. It seemed impossible, and yet... He knew Liam, he knew when he was spinning a yarn. He wasn't; not this time. It felt like an immense weight had been lifted to know that he didn't have to fight to get Liam back if he'd never really lost him.

"I chose to trust you, and I chose right." Liam said, breaking the companionable silence. "I'm not sayin' we can ever be what we were, but... Friends?"

"Friends," Shay agreed, and gripped his hand tight. "...With benefits?"

"No, Shay." Liam groaned. "...And don't you start poutin'!"

"Ah well, it was worth a try." Shay said with a crooked grin. "What's our next move anyway; did Haytham say?"

Liam watched him in silence for a moment. "You aren't goin' to like it." He finally said in a sympathetic tone.

* * *

Liam was right, Shay decided, he didn't like a single blasted part of it. It was too risky, and frankly left too much to chance. Still, it was the only shot they had. He heaved a sigh as he tailed the gang's courier to a remote area. Once he was sure he was alone, Shay crept up behind the poor bastard and snapped his neck. He died without making a sound. Quickly, he robbed the dead man of his clothing and shoved the body into a bush to buy some time before it was discovered. Then, he pulled on the man's clothes and hid his own inside the large bag the courier used for carrying letters. Liam and Haytham were waiting near the market, both also disguised – Liam much more convincingly than Haytham.

"Take your hair down, Shay. You look too prim to be a proper lout." Liam commented with a nod. Shay grumbled a string of obscenities under his breath and untied the ribbon holding his hair back. He hated having it down, it only got in the way. Still, Liam had a point. Haytham still had his tied back, but it was disheveled enough to be passable.

"I still think I make this look good." Shay said to Haytham with a wink. He coughed to cover up a bark of laughter and nodded to Liam.

"Liam, you and I will sneak in from the back. Shay, walk right in the front door on the pretense of delivering a letter to the boss, to be in his hands only. We will whistle when we are in position. When you hear our signal, kill him." Haytham explained, as if it weren't the tenth time they'd gone over the (completely idiotic) plan.

"Her, Baker is a _woman_." Shay reminded him. "All right, let's get this done. Oh, and one other thing, Sir."

"Yes?"

"If I survive this without gettin' shot again, you owe me a good romp. And if I _do_ get shot again, you have to tell Charles you think he has a nice arse. I still think this plan is rubbish. We're like cattle walkin' right into a bloody slaughterhouse." Shay hissed and gave them both a mock salute before turning toward the guarded entrance to the gang's compound.

"I'll pay you to tell Charles you think he has a nice arse, regardless o' whether he gets shot or not." Shay heard Liam whisper, which was met with a stony silence.

"Letter for the boss, her hands only." Shay said in a no-nosense tone to two beefy looking men guarding the front entrance to the compound. They shared a suspicious glance and whispered to each other just low enough that Shay couldn't hear. Shite, he thought to himself, the bastards are already onto us. Or not, he conceded as one of the men nodded and motioned for him to enter the compound. Shay allowed himself a moment to relax, knowing the hard part was over. Apparently the lookouts had more muscles than brains. He knew right where to find Baker after spending the better part of the day scouting the area to be as prepared as possible. ...And there she was, inside a large tent bent over a table, with a map spread out in front of her. It would be so easy to just do as he was told and kill her, but then he wouldn't have any answers... Fuck the blasted plan, he thought to himself.

"Constance." Shay said curtly, leaning nonchalantly against the tale beside her. She made a small sound of surprise, but otherwise gave no indication that she had been startled. Shay watched her curiously as her bright green eyes narrowed, and a small hand wrapped itself around the hilt of a dagger at her waist. She was a tiny woman, barely over four feet tall with dark auburn hair, and a dusting of freckles across her pale face. Shay knew better than to equate her petite stature with weakness, however. She'd almost killed him once, and he'd be damned if there was going to be a repeat of that particular fiasco. But... Something was off. He could swear he knew her face, but he just couldn't place it.

"You're alive. How?" She growled under her breath.

"I'm not that easy t'be rid of, darlin'." Shay replied with a shrug. "So, are we goin' to do this easy way? Tell me where the precursor site is, and I won't have to make this a bloodbath."

Constance glared at him a moment longer before quickly scribbling something on a scrap of parchment which she tucked into Shay's pocket. "Therese, the one they call 'the crow'. She was a Maroon, and is now mentor to us in Achilles' place. Stop her, before she makes the same mistake you did in Lisbon. You don't have much time. She was the one who shot you. I... Tried to stop her."

"She has the precursor box?" Shay whispered.

"Shay, you _have_ to kill me." Constance said flatly and drew her dagger. Quick as an arrow she managed to slash Shay across the face as he dodged, but she wasn't fast enough. Shay grabbed her hand and twisted the dagger out of it, snapping her wrist as he did. It fell to the ground where it hit the flagstones with a clatter, and Constance's thugs where on Shay like flies on shite. Somehow, she managed to escape the fray, only to find herself choking on her own blood as Liam engaged his hidden blade and drove it into her throat. Between the three of them, they made short work of the thugs, most of whom wisely chose to flee.

Uncertainly, Shay examined Constance's body. Around her neck was a heavy gold locket that bore the Templar cross. Frowning, he pried it open only to find a nondescript lock of dark hair. Recognition hit him like a brick wall, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he could remember how to breathe. "Mary." He mumbled incoherently as a few long forgotten memories flashed though his mind.

Haytham glared daggers at Shay as he uselessly tried to wipe the imaginary blood off his hands onto his stolen clothes. "What were you thinking? She could have killed you! Why reveal yourself?"

"Wait... Is that...?" Liam gasped, taking a step back from the body. "Fuck, what've I done now?"

"Killed an enemy?" Haytham supplied.

"No! No, not an enemy. Honestly, I forgot she existed. ...That was a _long_ time ago." Liam replied with a shrug. "Shay? When you're done havin' a crisis, we do still have a problem. Shay! Fuck's sake."

Shay stared somewhat hopelessly at the bloodstained locket resting in his palm. It was the same one he'd given her all those years ago, on the morning before he'd set sail with his father on the fateful voyage that turned his life upside down. Only, then it had been etched with a rose. He could still see the faint outline of the original design under the Templar cross. All these years she'd carried it with her, maybe even watching over him all that time in some strange way. What was it she'd said? She'd tried to stop Therese from killing him?

"Haytham, go find a bloody shovel. We can't leave her like this." Liam growled and shoved a protesting Haytham in the general direction of what looked the gang's supply shed.

Shakily, Shay pulled the bit of paper that Constance – no, Mary – had given him out of his pocket. Coordinates. ...Also a heavy key carved of black metal, obviously the one that had been taken from the gunsmith's workshop. There was nothing else, only a few hastily scribbles words: "Please don't forget me". How could he? And yet, he had. It had been years since he he'd so much as thought of her, this woman that he would have married if his father's ship hadn't sunk. Maybe they'd even have a house and a few kids running around if Mary's father hadn't broken the betrothal he'd arranged with Shay's own father when they were children, refusing to allow his daughter to marry a penniless sailor. That morning, when he gave her that locket with a lock of his hair, had been the last time he'd seen her. All he'd heard when he finally made it home alive was that her family planned to move to Boston, and that she was set to marry a wealthy London merchant old enough to be her father. ...Only that it was never to be as she took her own life. Which, obviously, she hadn't. That part of the story, Shay realized, he'd never know the whole of.

With a weary sigh, Shay tore off the bit of parchment with Mary's last words on it and pressed into the locket. Gently, he undid the clasp and stored it in one of his pockets. He didn't dare wear it, the delicate chain would break for sure. The sound of Haytham and Liam returning shook him back to reality. "Lets go. We haven't got a lot o' time. It's goin' to be Lisbon all over again if we don't hurry."

"But, Mary -" Liam started to say and Shay cut him off mid-sentence.

" - Wouldn't want us to waste the time she bought us by cryin' over her. We have to get our arses movin'. I need the _Morrigan_ ready to sail yesterday." Shay snapped, pointing in the direction of Fort Arsenal. Liam swore under his breath.

"For what it matters, I'm sorry." Liam said, regret evident in his voice.

"No, she was going to force me to kill her... You just managed to get in the way. It's not your fault. You didn't know who she was either." Shay said, shaking his head. "Go on, I'll be there soon. ...Just give me that damned shovel and both o' you leave me the hell alone." Liam took off at a run back toward Fort Arsenal, obviously at a loss for words. Mary had been his cousin, after all.

"Are you going to tell me who she was?" Haytham pressed.

"Not now. Help Liam. I'll be there shortly." Shay quipped. "...I should warn you that I am going to spend the better part o' this trip three sheets to the fucking wind."

"Shay...?"

"Go, Haytham! Not, fucking, now!" Shay shouted, shooing him away. The flash of hurt that crossed Haytham's features made Shay instantly regret the words. "I – I just... I'm goin' to need you later."

"Do you want help?" Haytham asked as Shay picked Mary up as carefully as he could. With all the death he'd seen, this was the first time he truly felt like he might vomit from the sight of a dead body – other than flashbacks to Lisbon, of course. All he remembered of Mary was a gentle girl with a soft smile, who loved roses and sneaking out to the docks to watch the sun set over the ocean. She didn't deserve to die like this, laid to rest in an unmarked grave. No, she should have been married to a good man with a few little ones, in a big house with a garden full of the flowers she loved – like she'd always wanted. Not this.

"No, I need to be alone." Shay said, feeling utterly numb. He felt like he should cry, or feel... _something_. But there was nothing. Only emptiness. It didn't take him long to dig a shallow grave, she was a wisp of a thing, after all. She'd always been small, like her mother. As if by instinct, he found his way to Fort Arsenal, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He cleaned himself up the best he could and cut a handful of the roses from the bush in the courtyard as he left. Miserably, Shay went back to gang's compound, stepping over corpses to get to Mary's grave.

"I won't forget you." He said mostly to himself and left the roses on top of the pitiful little mound of dirt. The sun setting on the horizon, he turned in the direction of the docks where the _Morrigan_ would be waiting. The Coordinates led to England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dallying – wasting time
> 
> Spinning a yarn – telling a story, or a lie
> 
> Bum – butt
> 
> Bellyaching – complaining/whinging


	33. That's your plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Guys I'm so sorry. My laptop got ruined and I lost my WIPs of these next few chapters and I couldn't bring myself to rewrite it for a while. I also can't find my flash drive that had my list of ye old slang words that I took ages putting together. Anyhow, moving on. There is going to be Shay/Haytham/Liam in the future seeing as there's been so much support for it. :3 Thanks to anyone who's still reading this!

"He won't talk to me." Haytham said flatly from where he stood at the _Morrigan'_ s helm, gripping the wheel so tightly it was painful. All Shay had done in the three days since leaving new York was drink until he passed out, and drink some more when he woke up. The only thing Haytham could think of was what he would do if Shay took about a hundred steps backward, and reverted to the mess he was after he thought he'd killed Liam.

"Me neither." Liam replied, leaning against the wooden railing in front of him. He had his hood drawn low over his face to keep the pouring rain out of his eyes as he watched over Shay's crew. "We need to do somethin'."

"Yes, but what?" Haytham snapped and fruitlessly tried to shake some of the water out of his saturated overcoat. He shivered and pulled it tighter around himself. It was a cold, driving rain that chilled him to the bones. The storm was getting worse, and that worried him. Ever since sailing through that storm on board the _Providence_ during his first trip to the New World, Haytham had a healthy respect for foul weather while sailing. Not to mention that it was his first time at the helm in a storm, and keeping his bearings was a lot more difficult than he wanted to admit.

Liam shrugged. "I'd suggest sex, but honestly I don't think that's goin' to work this time." He said after a while of watching the grey, choppy seas before them.

"Do you know anything about this 'Therese' woman that we're after?" Haytham grumbled, flinching slightly as a particularly loud, echoing roar of thunder passed.

"No, not really." Liam told him. "Only that – Shite! Turn her hard to port! Brace! Everyone down!" Liam yelled and grabbed onto the railing for dear life. Haytham heard the deafening roar of the rogue wave that had come out of literally nowhere before he saw it. The only thought in his mind was that Shay hadn't gone over this while teaching him how to sail.

"Haytham we need to hit that wave head-on, or that monster'll sink us! Hard to port! _Harder,_ damn it!" Liam barked. The crew scrambled to find something, anything, to hold on to as Haytham steered the _Morrigan_ so hard that the lower deck dipped into the water and she almost tipped over. He nearly lost his footing as the ship righted herself, just before hitting the massive wall of water. Most of the deck was submerged for a moment as they partially passed through it, rather than over it. If Haytham thought he was wet before, now he was _soaking_ wet. He hardly had time to think of it, as the _Morrigan_ reached the crest of the wave, she tipped straight down and Haytham actually did slip this time – smashing his head right into the _Morrigan'_ s wheel. The pain almost knocked him out cold, but somehow he managed to keep conscious and regain his balance as the _Morrigan'_ s heaving deck finally leveled out.

"That was too close." Liam whined after a fit of coughing up seawater. Somehow, all of the crew managed to hang on as well. "Haytham, are you - Mills! Get your arse up here!" Liam yelled, barely audible about the roar of the choppy waves that were growing steadily worse. Haytham shook his head, which was positively throbbing and wiped away the water that was trickling down the side of his head from his hair, only it something wasn't right. Why was it warm? _Oh,_ he thought to himself when he saw his hand covered in blood, that would be why.

"Take the tiller!" Liam shouted to Mills as he steered Haytham in the direction of Shay's cabin. Liam threw open the door and Haytham staggered in behind him, not entirely sure if the heaving the deck below his feet was the storm or a concussion.

"Sit." Liam ordered, pointing at the (somehow) still upright chair in front of Shay's desk. Shay was dragging himself out from underneath the other one that had obviously tipped over with him still in it, and then been buried in a pile of books from the shelf behind him. Connor was also there, as Liam has told him to stay inside until they got out of the storm. He unhelpfully picked up a book, one of Shay's old Captain's logs, and started reading it.

"...The fuck was that?" Shay mumbled, a lot more coherently that Haytham thought him capable of in his current state.

"Biggest rogue wave I've ever seen." Liam grumbled as Haytham lowered himself into the chair.

"It's a bit early in season for storms like this." Shay mused, and paled when he saw Haytham. "That's a lot o' blood..."

"No, Shite." Liam replied, pulling one of Shay's white undershirts from an open drawer. Connor watched with wide eyes and ran to his father's side. Liam gently shooed him toward the other side of the room, and told him to start picking up Shay's books to keep him out of his way.

"Not that one!" Shay complained as Liam pressed the sleeve of the shirt gingerly against the wound just above Haytham's forehead to soak up some of the blood. "There's towels, you know..."

"You're a lot less drunk that I thought you'd be." Liam commented, examining the injury a little more closely. Shay scoffed but didn't reply. "Sorry, Lady Bird, but this is definitely goin' to leave a scar." Liam added to Haytham. Haytham ignored both of them, not entirely sure he'd ever been quite this miserable. At least he hadn't been soaked to the skin and half frozen when Lucio stabbed his sorry arse.

"Aye, well... Give me a minute, we need some thread to sew that closed." Shay mumbled, followed by the sound of him rifling through one of the desk drawers. Haytham took a shaky breath and wished they'd give him a blanket and let him bleed to death in peace. Somehow, he wasn't sure he trusted Shay or Liam with first aid. Unconsciously, he leaned into the solid warmth of Liam's body that was pressed against his shoulder.

"Give me that, just hold him steady." Liam ordered, and Haytham felt the familiar touch of Shay's calloused hands on his cheek replace Liam's, as he gently tilted his head to the proper angle. By the time Liam was done cleaning and dressing the wound, Haytham was vacantly wondering if he had ever considered a career in torture and extortion. He was almost certain that he had whimpered like a little girl at some point, and the only thing holding him upright was Shay's firm grip on him.

"I'll get him cleaned up and into something dry, you go make sure Mills doesn't kill us all. This storm is a nasty one and you're the best sailor here." Liam told Shay, who grunted something unintelligible in response and placed a soft kiss on Haytham's forehead before leaving. Haytham immediately missed the comfort of his presence. He leaned back in the chair with a weary sigh as he listened to Liam digging through Shay's dresser drawers.

"You'll want to bottom one." Haytham mumbled, realizing that Liam was probably well aware that Haytham's own clothes were probably stashed somewhere given the nature of his relationship with Shay. Liam said something under his breath and tossed a pile of clothes onto Shay's desk.

"We need to get you out of those." Liam said in a tone that suggested he was far less than thrilled by the idea of undressing Haytham.

"I can do it myself; go." Haytham groaned and stood up. He would have hit the floor like a sack of potatoes had Liam not caught him on pure reflex. How he managed not to vomit from the way his head spun, Haytham would never know. "Perhaps not." He added groggily, and tried to extricate himself from Liam who firmly shoved him back into the chair. Liam didn't say a word as he began undoing the belts and clasps on Haytham's coat, other than muttering something along the lines of 'too many fucking buttons'.

"I have to give you some credit", Liam said as he slipped Haytham's undershirt off and tossed it on the floor in a corner with his coat, "for someone who's absolute shite at sailin', you did all right back there." Haytham made no particular effort to reply, and nearly choked on his own breath as Liam undid the lacing on his pants. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't like there was anything sexual about the situation. He decided to settle on not being particularly fond of being so vulnerable and alone with a former enemy. Anything else, and he'd have to literally drown himself in Shay's rum.

"All right, stand up – _slowly._ " Liam directed, hauling Haytham unsteadily to his feet. He held his breath as Liam pulled off his pants and patted him dry with a towel. Getting the dry clothes on was much easier and Haytham did it himself for the most part, aside from leaning heavily on Liam as he hobbled over to Shay's bed.

"Get some rest. You'll be fine in a bit." Liam said and threw the covers over him.

* * *

When Haytham finally woke God only knows how many hours later, the sea was calm. The pain in his head was a dull throbbing, which was irritating but not incapacitating. He could make out the muffled sounds of the crew singing a shanty, as well as Shay and Liam speaking quietly within the cabin.

"What are our plans for reaching London, anyway?" Liam asked uncertainly. "The _Morrigan_ can't carry enough supplies to make the trip."

"Aye, I know. That's why we're stoppin' in Boston. One o' my boys has a couple o' frigates we took from the French. He's a tea merchant, sort of. Actually he's a fence and a smuggler, but the Order needs money and reliable couriers. His crew makes regular trips across the pond, and they won't mind changin' the schedule a bit to get us there." Shay explained.

Haytham sat up slowly and yawned. He felt a bit groggy, but relatively functional. "Where in London is that we are going, exactly? I never asked." He inquired.

"I can't say, I've never been there. All I have is a basic map and some coordinates." Shay replied. Haytham sighed and stood beside Liam, who was leaning against the desk and studying the map. It certainly was the most basic map of London Haytham had ever seen. Only the different districts were marked, and a couple of ports along the Thames. He doubted it was even a recent map.

"That's the place the coordinates lead to." Liam told him, pointing a spot on the map.

"...But that's smack in the middle of the Thames." Haytham replied incredulously. "Or, perhaps under it."

"That was what I was thinkin'." Shay interjected. "One o' the precursor temples listed in the Voynich manuscript was supposed to be under water near Port Au Prince. It could be far below the city."

"Aye, that's the one Mackandal's men accidentally destroyed." Liam commented. "We don't even know what this one is, though. We need to be cautious. This whole damn thing could be a trap; there might not even be a precursor site."

"Aye, and we _need_ to support the foremast with something." Shay whined. "A good gust o' wind will take it right down."

"What?" Haytham asked, frowning.

"The foremast splintered at the base when we hit that wave. It's still intact, but it needs to be replaced." Liam supplied when Shay ignored them both and headed back out to the deck. Haytham hurried after him, a little surprised by how mild the weather was. How had it gone from being a horrid storm, to a temperate summer day? Unless...

"Shay, how long was I asleep?" Haytham asked as they made their way toward the damaged mast.

"Four days." Shay answered. "We're almost to Boston; The storm threw us off course a bit."

"Four days?!" Haytham said in exasperation as Shay stared at the badly splintered wood at the base of the mast. It was definitely a mess, Haytham couldn't fathom what was actually holding it up.

"...Some of the spare wood from the hold. Maybe we can make a temporary brace." Shay mumbled to himself, leaning his weight against it to test its strength. The whole thing swayed slightly. "...Might not be enough to hold it." It dawned on Haytham that Shay was ignoring him, probably hoping he'd go someplace else.

"Do we need to talk?" He asked.

Shay spun around and regarded him in silence for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I'm just..." He glanced around as if to make sure the crew were all out of earshot. "It's not Mary. I thought it about it, and it hurt at first, but as far as I knew she'd died years ago. I didn't even remember her. I haven't even thought o' her since long before I joined up with the Assassins."

"Then, what is it?" Haytham asked insistently, knowing damn well that he'd never get a straight answer if he allowed Shay to be evasive.

"It..." He looked over his shoulder once more to make sure no one was listening. And spoke in a hushed whisper when he answered "Liam. I can't stop thinking about how badly I just want to fuck him senseless! But dammit, I know I can't and shouldn't want to!"

In spite of himself, Haytham laughed – hysterically. Haytham wasn't sure which was funnier the passion with which Shay said it, or the fact that he had to whisper it like a child trying to misbehave in class.

"Fuck's sake! Stop laughin' or I'll kick you in the hams!" Shay swore, looking across that deck at Liam, who was watching Haytham with raised eyebrows and a bit of a smirk.

"Well, I can't blame you really. He has a _such_ a lovely arse." Haytham whispered in Shay's ear once he'd managed to compose himself. Shay stared at him in utter disbelief. Haytham nearly had a crisis wondering exactly where the remark had come from. Sure, Liam could be considered an attractive man; Haytham wasn't blind. But he didn't usually think about men that way, either – only Shay.

"I'd ask if you hit your head, but..."

"I do believe the fact that I hit my head has been well-established." Haytham retorted and ruffled Shay's hair affectionately.

"Whatever you say, you bloody hell cat." Shay grumbled and shook his head. "D'you have any actual advice, O almighty Grandmaster?"

Haytham thought about it for a moment and realized that, no, he didn't have a clue how to handle it. While the very thought of Shay even looking in Liam's direction with lust in his eyes made Haytham want to kill both of them, he knew that was hardly a mature way to think about it. There was _one_ thing he could come up with, but the thought of it made his skin crawl. Still, how could he judge Shay? What if the boot was on the other foot?

"Believe me, I would rather poison Liam's bloody tea than suggest this, but... Maybe just once... You could..." Haytham grimaced and looked away from the scandalized look on Shay's face.

"Are you serious? _That's_ your plan?" Shay asked, eyes wide.

"I think _all three of us_ need to sit down, like the adults we claim to be, and discuss this." Haytham hissed under his breath and glanced in Liam's direction. He and Martin were laughing at some silly anecdote that one of the crewmen was telling them.

"I think that will end badly." Shay said icily and looked out over the ocean to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Probably." Haytham agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Bird – A pretty young lady. Or a total slut; I've seen it used a few ways.
> 
> Hams – breeches, technically. I've also seen it used as slang for balls.
> 
> Hell Cat – a very lewd, misbehaved woman.


	34. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this chapter a few times. I still hate it. Anyway, sorry this is a little short, I'm working on the next chapter which will be in Liam's point of view. :3

Shay paced the length of his cabin, idly twirling Mary's locket in his fingers. He was avoiding Haytham and Liam. The last thing he wanted to do was for his stupidity to come between him and Haytham, yet he couldn't look in Liam's direction without wanting to do unmentionable things to him. Perhaps it was just the allure of forbidden fruit. Liam wouldn't want that anyway. He tucked Mary's locket in his desk drawer, next to the journal Haytham had given him. It was still blank, of course. Shay stared at it for a moment, knowing that if there was ever a time he needed to get his thoughts straight, it was now. Hesitantly, he dropped it onto the desk and opened it the first page. He scribbled the date, (June 15, 1764), and stared vacantly at the blank parchment for a solid ten minutes before he decided what to write: 'Could I choose one of them? No. But I can't have both of them.'

"That was less help than it should be." Shay mumbled and shoved the journal back into the drawer. His eyes darted to Haytham who was fast asleep on his bed. He contemplated curling up beside him, but he'd never manage it without waking him. Haytham was a very light sleeper. He wasn't tired, anyway. Wandering the deck meant the possibility of running into Liam, who he also wanted to avoid. Well, maybe not. Liam _might_ be asleep whereas the odds of not waking Haytham up were most certainly not in his favor. Shay slunk out of the cabin as quietly as he could.

The crew were milling about, some of them playing cards and singing drunkenly on the lower deck. Martin was at the helm, and a few of them had fallen asleep at their posts. Shay let them be; it was a clear night and there weren't any other ships around.

"Can't sleep, Shay?" Shay bit back a slew of curses and gave Liam a thoroughly fake smile.

"Look who's callin' the kettle black." He replied and leaned against the main mast in way that he hoped looked nonchalant.

"Hardly. What's on your mind? I know that look you have about you." Liam said, fixing him with a stern stare.

"Nothin' you want to hear about it." Shay told him dismissively.

"Is it Mary?" Liam pressed, following him when he started to walk away.

"No." Shay snapped. "Drop it." They stood in silence for a bit, Shay watching the stars that were clearly visible in sky. Liam tapped his foot on the deck and Shay could practically feel him staring a hole into his back. Irritably, he turned his back on Liam and took a seat by the men playing cards.

"Deal me in, boys." Shay ordered and tossed a handful of schillings into the pot, which was a motley assortment of little trinkets and coins. Liam took a seat across from Shay and tossed a few coins in as well.

"If I win, you tell me. And don't you cheat, dingboy!" Liam said pointedly.

"Aye, and if I win you fuckin' drop it!" Shay argued and glared daggers at him. Martin gave them both a knowing smirk and dealt the cards. Shay looked at his hand, and felt his heart drop straight through to the ocean floor. He didn't have a single good card. Well, he had a pair of threes, but that wasn't likely to win him anything. He stole a glance at Liam who was rearranging his cards with a smug look on his face. It could be an act, Shay told himself, but he knew Liam never was good at cards.

"All right lads, what've you got?" Martin asked. One man had a pair of twos (only slightly more terrible than Shay's own hand), and another laid down a straight. Liam laughed and tossed his royal flush down on top of the pot. Shay groaned and showed his own cards, which of course was greeted with hearty laughter from the others.

"You cheated." Shay told Liam in disgust.

"Aye, what did you expect?" He replied, and shooed Shay away from the others. "So, what's eatin' at you, Shay?" He asked once they were out of earshot of the crewmen.

"You, honestly." Shay replied dejectedly.

"Pardon?"

"Haytham said you have a nice arse." Shay said evasively.

"Now you're just pullin' my leg." Liam said with a snort of laughter. "He has as much of a sense o' humor as a rock."

"Aye, that's true. But he's lightenin' up a bit." Shay insisted.

"Shay, you're avoidin' the question." Liam pressed.

"Look, Liam, I didn't want to talk about it, because you already said 'no' once. And Haytham would tan my hide anyways." Shay explained, not meeting his eyes. "I'm tryin' but I can't let go. I know I should, but..."

"Shay," Liam said with a weary sigh. "I'm not the man you remember. You're in love with a damned memory, not me."

Shay did meet his eyes then, giving him a glare that might even have made Haytham flinch a bit. "No, I'm not. You're still you, no matter what you say. Do you remember that time I cheated at cards at that Tavern in Greenwich? When I got kicked out o' the place and thrown in boardin' school? When you paid my bail, you told me that I shouldn't let my mistakes define who I am. I took that to heart. I tried to be a better man after that. I've done some things I'm not proud of, but I've always kept movin' forward and made sure to remember who I am, no matter what. I know you better than that."

"I want to hate you for what you did, but I fuckin' can't!" Liam burst out and smacked his fist into the ship's railing. "I should want to kill you, but I never could! ...Because you really are the same idiot you always were, and in spite of everythin' you still have a heart. I'm not sure I do."

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't o' saved my dumb arse in anticosti. You wouldn't have taught Connor how to sing shanties, or told him all those stories about that trip we took to Havana." Shay argued.

"Ah, I remember that trip." He said tartly.

"Ha. I don't." Shay said, with a grin.

"No shite, idiot. You were too drunk to remember your own name from the time we docked, to the time we were halfway back to New York." Liam retorted, with a genuine smile.

"Aye, I'm still that idiot." Shay told him. "Just a bit less drunk."

"But still a complete harlot." Liam interjected. "Shay, you know this road leads nowhere. We can't be what we were."

"Aye, I know. You're the one who asked what I was thinkin' about, and you've had your answer." Shay said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

* * *

The next day dawned cool and rainy. Shay was irritable and lashed out at nearly everyone who spoke to him, which did not include Liam who seemed to want less than nothing to do with him. How he was going to tolerate being stuck with him and his perfect arse for the better part of three months, was beyond him. ...Three months assuming their ship didn't run into storms or other complications on the trip across the pond. The frustration was driving Shay up a wall, and he was fit to burst. ...And they weren't even to Boston yet.

"Sir, you're headin' for a sandbar." Martin said gruffly from his post nearby. Shay snapped out of his internal struggle long enough to avoid plowing the _Morrigan_ into a small, most likely uninhabitable island.

"Sorry." Shay mumbled, and focused on the sea before them. Martin only shook his head knowingly. The weather wasn't improving much, and he was soaked to the skin. Which, to say the least, did nothing to improve his surly attitude.

"Some distraction might help." Martin suggested bluntly. "I'm sure Kenway could assist with that."

"Liam! Take the damned wheel!" Shay yelled and stomped into his cabin. Liam glared daggers at him, but took his place nonetheless. He didn't want distraction. He wanted his mess of confused feelings to start making sense. He wanted Liam to stop pushing him away, and Haytham to quit silently judging him every time he looked in Liam's direction. Haytham, of course, was sitting at the desk writing in his journal. Shay ignored him and flopped down on the bed, with his back to him like some kind of petulant child.

"Shay?" Haytham asked curiously. When Shay didn't answer he sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Shay sighed and let him snuggle up behind him, with his arms around his waist. It was almost funny, how normal it was now to _cuddle_ with the Grandmaster. Once upon a time, Haytham honestly intimidated him, and Shay wondered if the man had an ice cube where his heart should be. Now... Well, now Shay wasn't sure he could breathe without the comfort of his presence.

"We'll be in Boston before dawn tomorrow." Shay said flatly. "This is goin' to be a long trip."

True to Shay's word, they reached Boston just before sunrise. The _Angela_ was ready and waiting for them with a full crew and her captain. Shay spared no time to dally around Boston, going ashore only to leave his _Morrigan_ in Thomas and William's care. He gave them a list of repairs that he needed taken care of, and made sure both men had the fear of God in them, as far as what the consequences would be if something was wrong with his phantom queen when he returned from England. Just before noon, the _Angela_ left port. At least she was a much bigger ship, which made it easier to avoid Liam. Shay disliked not being in command of the crew, but he kept his comments to himself and spent most of the first few days locked in his cabin. Alone. Haytham had his own cabin, which was for the better. These men didn't really know about the Templar order, much less his and Haytham's role. They wouldn't take kindly to the idea that they were together. Shay really needed to remember that more often - that most people abhorred what they shared. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was true nonetheless.

After nightfall, Shay decided to wander around on the upper deck for a while. The crew were still singing their shanties, and passing around a bottle of rum. They seemed like good men, though a bit more subdued than his own crew. Shay settled on to top of a pile of cargo crates and sat cross-legged, looking out over the open sea. A few deep breaths of sea air, and he (mostly) felt right at home. He could see Liam near the bow, in a similar position with a book propped open on his lap. He was reading by the light of one of the ship's lanterns than hung nearby, and seemed mostly oblivious to his surroundings. Shay fought the urge to go talk to him. It wouldn't end well. He wondered what Haytham was up to – probably sleeping like a normal human being should be during the wee hours of the morning.

"Fuck it." Shay grumbled and made his way to where Liam was sitting. Liam glanced at him as he approached, but otherwise ignored him. Shay sat down beside him, and looked at the book he was reading. Shakespeare's Macbeth. Liam closed it with a snap.

"What do you want, Shay?" Liam asked, not even turning to look at him.

"Nothing, really." Shay replied. The real answer was a lot more confusing. Though, simply saying he didn't want to be alone might have sufficed. He'd have to figure out which cabin was Haytham's and sneak in. It couldn't be that hard. The _Angela'_ s crew appeared to be relatively observant, but they weren't trained nearly as well as Shay's boys. They wouldn't notice an enemy ship until there was a hole in the hull, let alone a master of stealth sneaking into his lovers cabin under cover of night.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you. That wasn't my intention, but you know as well as I do that you're better off right where you are – with Haytham." Liam said quietly. "Not for nothin', and don't expect me to repeat this, but he's a better man than most I've met. ...Even if he is a fuckin' Templar."

"For all your bitchin', you still care about me." Shay accused. "And, you're 'fuckin' Templar' now, too."

"I'll always care about you, idiot." Liam growled. "Go to bed, Shay. ...Haytham's cabin is the last one on the right." He added in a whisper.

"Good to know." Shay replied with a smirk.

"Yes, yes. Now go do unmentionable things to him and leave me be." Liam told him, rolling his eyes.

Shay did leave Liam alone, somehow fighting the urge to just lean in and kiss the pain in the arse. He wasn't going to Haytham, though. Maybe he needed to be alone for a bit. Either that, or he needed a good trollop. He wasn't sure which. Regardless, Shay found his way back to his own cabin and threw his clothes in a heap on the floor. He'd deal with them in the morning. He flopped down on the bed, not bothering to put on nightclothes. There was one good thing about sleeping alone, he realized, there wasn't anyone in the room to judge him for being a slob. He fell into an uneasy sleep, wondering what London would have in store for them, and why it seemed that he took two steps backward every time he thought it he was heading in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dingboy - a rogue
> 
> Pulling your leg – being led on
> 
> The pot calling the kettle black – This is still used a lot today (at least where I live), but just in case, saying this is calling someone out on being a hypocrite.
> 
> Boarding School – Jail
> 
> Trollop – rough sex


	35. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, these last couple chapters were mostly conversation, but there's going to some ass-kicking in the next one, I promise! Also, sorry if this is a bit off. I've never written anything with an OT3 before. So, it's kind of a learning experience.

Liam stared vacantly across the open sea before them. They were only a few days out of Boston, and he wondered if he should have found some excuse to stay behind. Shay's drama would be the death of him – if not the Assassins when they realized the extent of his betrayal. Irritably, he threw the half eaten apple he'd been holding over the ship's railing. Shay was nearby, singing drunkenly with a group of the _Angela_ 's crew, nursing a half empty bottle of whiskey. Haytham, Liam assumed, was probably sulking in his cabin. He seemed to be avoiding Shay; Liam really couldn't blame him. As much as he'd rather not admit it, he was actually starting to like the poncy British bastard. He wasn't as stuffy and proper as Liam had thought, but he was still so... _British._ ...And fucking Shay. No, no. He had to stop thinking of that. He didn't have any place being jealous – not anymore anyway.

"Where is Kenway?" He snapped at a passing deckhand.

"'Is majesty's in the galley." The man replied tartly.

Liam smirked and stifled a chuckle. The crew already hated Haytham, and he really needed to remember that these men didn't even answer to Shay, let alone him. Still, Haytham would have had a fit if he'd heard the comment, of that there was no doubt. Just as he'd been told, Haytham was seated at the large, worn dining table staring at a cup of tea as though it had offended him – which, to be fair, it probably had.

"What's the matter, is the tea not up to snuff?" Liam asked jokingly and took the seat across from him. Luckily they were alone, as far as he could tell.

Haytham shrugged and took a sip of the tea. "It is a bit bitter, but I don't particularly mind. I have more important things to care about than the price of my tea." He replied, somewhat sullenly. "I was just thinking about this whole mess."

"Shay, or the Assassins?" Liam inquired pointedly.

"Both. Mostly Shay." Haytham answered without looking up.

"Tell me, why did I even ask?" Liam said with a sigh. "Though, I suppose that helps, because we should really discuss that."

"Discuss what, exactly?" Haytham snapped. "How he is pining for you like a besotted woman, while he clings to me because second best is better than nothing?"

"Fuck's sake, Haytham." Liam growled. "Shay might not always use his brain, but he doesn't just think with his cock, either. You know that. That idiot loves you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have said anythin' to you about me."

"What makes you think he did say something?" Haytham said under his breath.

"Because you know about it. Shay's nothin' if not good at hidin' what he's feelin'." Liam retorted. "Don't be difficult."

"Fine. What do you want, exactly?" Haytham demanded.

Liam resisted the urge to kick him under the table, barely. Just because he now knew Haytham wasn't a complete bastard, didn't mean the man wasn't an insufferable arse. "I need some way to make him get over me. We can't be what we were. I'm not who he remembers, no matter what he tells himself."

"You do realize he is _never_ going to accept that as an excuse, don't you?" Haytham replied sourly.

"Of course, I'd be eatin' my own nails if I thought talkin' my way out of it would work." Liam muttered.

"Here's the real question, though, do you really _want_ him to give up on you? I tried to suggest he think of some means of compromise, but it went over his head entirely." Haytham commented, looking like he'd rather be drinking poison than tea. "Honestly, if it were up to me I would throw you off the ship to make it easier, but we both know that is not going to work. And, believe it or not, I do care about Shay's well-being. I would be willing to sacrifice more than you think to make him happy."

Liam chuckled quietly under his breath, and wondered how Shay and Haytham had wound up in a relationship at all. "Idiots. You're both fuckin' idiots. All you do is chase your tails." Liam whined. Seriously, the both them spent more time worrying about absolute garbage than the things that actually matter. ...Haytham, in that sense, really was quite like Shay - obsessed with tiny details and not seeing the whole picture. Well, in his personal life, anyway. Liam had to admit, the man definitely had his shite together when it came to running the Colonel Rite. ...And Shay knew when he had to stop trying to analyze a situation and take action – for better or worse.

"You didn't answer the question. So I will have to assume that, despite your tact in this situation, you still harbor feelings for Shay." Haytham said, blunt and to the point as usual.

"You really have no idea how to deal with emotional situations, do you?" Liam griped evasively.

"No, not really. If you actually want to talk about this, stop being so bloody defensive." Haytham hissed, and actually did kick him in the shin under the table.

Liam swore at him in a harsh whisper. "Just because I still have feelings for him don't mean I should act on them, or that it would be right to do so. I might have thrown my lot in with you, but it doesn't change what he did. He still killed everyone else I cared about."

"True, but you also weren't there when he needed you the most; he still thinks it was you that shot him at the homestead. I am not going to justify Shay's actions, but he forgave you. I think you need to bury the past and do the same, Liam." Haytham told him flatly. Yes, Haytham was every bit as brutal as the others had told him over the years. He wasn't heartless, though. Still, sodding brutal.

"How is Shay deciding to steal a precursor artifact, and dive off of a blasted cliff _my_ fault?" Liam ranted, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Had he really abandoned Shay? He didn't think so. He'd tried to talk sense into him, sure, but he could understand how Shay saw it that way. He knew now that Shay was right then, but at the time he... He'd turned his back on him. He'd blamed Shay's inexperience for the tragedy at Lisbon, and thought him childish when he refused to continue following Achilles' lead.

"It does not matter. It is over, and done with, and you need to let go so you can move on with your life. Maybe it isn't Shay you need to forgive. Stop tormenting yourself over the past. It is not going to change. You can either accept that, or wallow in misery. I don't care either way, but playing the victim is not doing you any favors." Haytham continued, mercilessly ripping Liam's fragile logic to shreds. For someone who really didn't seem to understand the more delicate human emotions, Haytham certainly had him backed in a corner. ...And there it was, Liam knew, that was how Haytham handled Shay and his issues. Once he figured out the root of the problem, he metaphorically shoved Shay's face in it and made him deal with it – subtly, of course. It really was the only way to get through to Shay sometimes. Though, Haytham had another thing coming if he thought he could use the same tactics on him.

"You don't know anythin' about it." Liam snapped and stormed away. That could have gone better, he thought to himself as he wrenched open the galley doors, desperate to escape. Mostly because he didn't like being cornered, but he hated being wrong even more.

"Liam, get your arse back over here." Haytham demanded, obviously out of patience.

"Why? We're done talkin'. " Liam responded, but stayed where he was.

"I loved Connor's mother more than anything. Ziio is gone, but if she reappeared in my life, I don't know how I would handle that. Would I try to get her back, even though that would never happen because Charles - that absolute horse's arse - ruined my last chance to keep her, or would I choose Shay? I doubt I would be able to make that choice, and it would drive me insane." Haytham explained. "I can, at least a little a bit, understand what he is going through. Maybe having to choose isn't the right answer."

"Oh? And you wouldn't be jealous at all, of course." Liam said, rolling his eyes.

"Neither would you, naturally." Haytham retorted, his voice dripping with a lethal combination of sarcasm and venom. "We need to work _something_ out, so unless you have any suggestions...?"

"We'll have to set some ground rules, obviously." Liam said, at a loss. Was he really agreeing with this? Was he out of his bloody mind? He must be, he was a fucking _Templar_ now, after all.

" _Obviously_." Haytham repeated in a mocking tone. "Go make your amends, or whatever you need to do. We can cross that bridge when get to it."

What Shay saw in Haytham, Liam would never know. The man was utterly obnoxious, and knew just which buttons to press to make Liam want to shove a hidden blade up his arse sideways. Wait, that wasn't right. He needed to stop thinking about Haytham's arse. ...Even if it was so - _no._ Liam took a deep breath and tried to think of something - _anything_ \- else. He needed air, maybe, he tried to convince himself and found his way back to the upper deck. Shay, thank mercy, was nowhere in sight. Liam leaned against the ship's railing and looked up at the stars, now visible as the sun was nearly set. On warm nights like this, he and Shay used to camp out on the homestead. They'd lay for hours, doing nothing but watching the stars. Maybe Haytham was right, maybe the reason they weren't doing just that tonight was because Liam _had_ failed Shay when he needed him the most. He hadn't even tried to understand Shay's choice, instead having merely chocked it up to Shay not wanting to take responsibility for his actions. He should have known better, he probably did all along but was too busy being the victim to see it that way. Damn Haytham! ...And his shapely arse!

Liam found Shay sitting cross-legged on top of a pile of crates near the _Angela_ 's bow, looking up at the stars and fiddling with a small object in his hands. It was the bit of stone from the precursor ruin that he'd found in the gunsmith's shop. Silently, Liam leaned against the pile of crates without looking up at him. "I _was_ the one who shot you at the homestead." He said quietly. "It wasn't Chevalier."

"I know." Shay replied tartly. "You missed the important bits, but it left quite a scar."

"It was all I could think of to stop you from jumpin'. I'm sorry I couldn't do better." Liam explained, picking at the hem of his sleeve.

"I forgave you a long time ago. You did what you thought was right, as did I. We made mistakes, but can't let them keep draggin' us down. What's done is done. I started over; you can too." Shay told him. "...What brought this on?"

"I, uh, had a talk with Haytham." Liam supplied, knowing damn well that Shay would see through any lie he told him.

"Oh?"

"Leave it be." Liam snapped. "I wanted to apologize."

"For shootin' me?" Shay asked, laughing.

"No, you bloody nigit, for... For not believin' you, for... Not bein' there when you needed me. If it weren't for me and pride, maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did." Liam said, every word utter agony to give voice to. "We can't be what we were, but can be start over – be somethin' else, somethin' better."

"Liam?"

"Shay?"

"What the hell did Haytham do to you?"

Liam groaned and covered his face with his hands, wishing he could literally die to not hear Shay trying, and failing, to cover up his laughter. "...That same shite I always did to you when you could've used a boot up your arse instead. I'm just wonderin' how he got to me."

"Liam, don't pretend you didn't _let_ him get to you." Shay commented, smiling like an idiot. Liam finally looked up and met his eyes that sparkled with mirth. He'd been through hell and back, but he was still Shay. Still the same, well-meaning idiot that he knew he'd always love – no matter what. He didn't move an inch as Shay hopped down from the pile of crates and brushed a bit of dust from his coat. Nor did he resist when Shay softly cupped his face in hands and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. It was funny how familiar it felt, like they'd never been apart – at least for that moment.

"No, someone'll see us." Liam said regretfully, and lightly shoved Shay off of him.

"Aye, sorry." Shay said awkwardly.

"Good night, Shay." Liam said with a smile, and absolutely did _not_ touch his fingers to his lips where he could still feel the tingle of Shay's kiss.

* * *

The days that followed were relatively uneventful. Haytham seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on Liam, which he entirely ignored, but kept any comments to himself. If anything was actually bothering him, Liam would have to admit that he was bored. He'd never been bored at sea before, but he'd also never been the guest of someone else's crew. There had always been work to do on board the _Morrigan_. Here he had to resort to pacing the deck and mindlessly watching the endless waves of the Atlantic as they rolled by. Shay seemed indifferent, joining in with the crews' shanties and playing cards with them well into the night. Haytham kept to himself. Sometimes Liam would find him hidden in a corner somewhere reading a book, or writing in his journal. He wished he had something to read, it might pass the time. Instead, he settled on the deck boards leaned up against a tobacco crate and had nearly drifted off when he realized that Haytham was standing at the railing next to him.

"Need somethin'?" Liam asked blearily.

"No, not really." Haytham replied. "Have you ever been across the pond?"

"Yes, but to Spain a few years back, not London." Liam replied. "You don't want to go, do you?"

"Not in the slightest." Haytham answered. "At first I was furious when the Order sent me to the New World, but looking back London is full of nothing but bitter memories for me. What is worse, is that we will have to visit my sister. I doubt she will help us, but I don't dare ask the Templars there for information. There is no way they have not figured out by now that I am partly responsible for the death of the previous Grand Master. Suffice to say, I am dreading this entire affair."

"Hold on, you have a sister? And you killed a Grand Master?" Liam asked in shock.

"Yes, Jennifer. Technically speaking, Jenny killed Birch, but I helped. He killed my father, sold my sister into slavery, used me as his personal plaything for years until I discovered the truth, and then expected me to simply accept it because it was all for my own good. Jenny just got in the way, I suppose. She was set to marry that bastard, too. I only regret trusting him as blindly as I did." Haytham explained dryly.

"Why did you stay loyal to the Templars after all that?" Liam inquired, wondering why Haytham was even telling him this. It was the first time he could really recall him saying anything about his past, other than vaguely mentioning his father's murder while they were searching the remains of the Brown family's farm.

"Because I believe in their cause. Birch was obsessed with precursor artifacts to the point that he stopped caring about anything else. It was that obsession that killed my father. All for a damned journal. Just as Achilles is a poor example of what an Assassin should be, Birch was hardly a model Templar. Well, in my rather unpopular opinion, at least." Haytham told him bitterly.

"Right. Why're we havin' this conversation?" Liam asked.

Haytham chuckled under his breath and shook his head. "I am bored. Besides, talking with Shay will only result in ill-advised sex."

Liam laughed, thinking maybe Haytham wasn't a complete arse. "Ill-advised, why? Sex tends to be a good remedy for boredom."

"True, but Shay is not exactly quiet and I do not need the whole crew knowing what is happening in my cabin." Haytham complained.

"This is goin' to be a long trip." Liam whined. Haytham made a small sound of agreement, and they fell silent for a while, just watching the waves roll by – at least until Shay appeared behind them.

"It's so nice seein' you two gettin' along!" He commented and gave Haytham the most obnoxious smirk. Both he and Liam rolled their eyes and muttered mutinously under their breath. Liam wasn't sure which was more terrifying, the fact that Shay was right, or that he and Haytham reacted in exactly the same fashion.

"Yes, well... Did you need something Shay?" Haytham nearly stuttered, obviously also a bit out of sorts. Liam decided this ship had to be heading straight to hell.

"No; I'm bored." He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, splendid! We can just have an orgy to sort that out then, shall we?" Haytham groused with an unreasonable amount of sarcasm.

"That doesn't sound like a bad call." Shay said, a little too hopefully for comfort.

"No, Shay." Haytham and Liam groaned in unison. That's it, Liam thought to himself, God can stop fucking with me whenever he feels like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eating your nails - doing something pointless
> 
> Up to Snuff – Up to standard, decent quality
> 
> Nigit - Idiot


End file.
